Courted by a Carol
by BonitaBreezy
Summary: It's Clint's last Christmas break before he graduates, and things finally seem to be working out for him. At least until Barney shows up, trailing trouble behind him, and complicates Clint's whole life. Sometimes it seems like the only thing that keeps him going is the gorgeous, kind owner of Clint's favorite coffee shop and the gifts he keeps receiving from an anonymous courter.
1. Chapter 1

The words on the computer screen started to blur, and Clint Barton's head started to dip down towards his chest. As his head started to tilt sideways, he gasped suddenly and sat up straight, rubbing at his eyes and blinking rapidly to try and wake himself up. He groaned loudly and pushed his chair back from his desk, standing up and stretching his hands towards the ceiling. He'd been working on a paper for his political communications class since ten that morning. It was just past two-thirty now, and he hadn't even started writing the paper yet. He had about four pages full of notes, highlighted in different colors to match the material to the citations in a different document, but he wasn't really sure that he had enough information to actually write the stupid paper, and his uncertainty was making it really hard for him to buckle down and get his work done.

The paper wasn't due until Monday, and usually Clint would have put it off until Sunday, but unfortunately his Intro to Quantum Theory exam was on Monday as well, and he'd been struggling with it for the past few weeks. So while everyone else was getting ready to go out partying for one last hurrah before the semester ended, Clint was forcing himself to finish a paper for a class that he hadn't even wanted to take so that he could spend the whole weekend cramming for the hardest class he'd ever taken, but needed for his degree. It was really going to suck, but hopefully it would be worth it. He really didn't want to have to pay to take the class again.

Clint did a couple of lunges, trying to work up his heart rate to wake himself up a bit. He then moved on to toe touches and some more stretches to work out the kinks in his back that had appeared from spending almost five hours leaning over his laptop. As he stretched, his stomach rumbled angrily, and Clint finally decided that he deserved a break. He grabbed his jeans from where he'd tossed them on the floor the night before when he went to bed and slid into them. He looked down at his soft purple t-shirt with a frown, trying to decide if he should change it, since it was the one he'd worn all day yesterday and had also slept in. He grabbed the collar and yanked it up over his nose, inhaling. It smelled like cotton and vaguely of laundry soap, so he shrugged and left it on. He slid his feet into his purple Chucks, and laced them up quickly before grabbing his wallet, phone, and keys off his desk and sliding them into his pockets.

Natasha was standing in front of his door when he opened it, holding his jacket in one hand, her other hand formed in a fist raised to knock on his door. She raised an eyebrow at him when he flinched back instinctively from the raised fist, and he thought she looked a little hurt.

"I was just coming to get you," they both said at the same time. Natasha's eyebrows quirked up even higher, but she gestured for him to speak.

"I'm falling asleep at my desk. I need some food and about a gallon of coffee," Clint told her. "And honestly, I need to get out of this apartment for an hour or so. I'm gonna go crazy if I don't see some natural light."

"I agree, that's why I was coming to get you," Natasha said, and Clint noticed that she had her purse slung over her shoulder. "Uncommon Grounds?"

"You read my mind," Clint grinned.

Uncommon Grounds was a local coffee shop a few blocks between their apartment and the University that they frequented whenever they could reasonably afford it. The shop served excellent paninis and even better coffee, but if Clint were being honest, he'd still go there even if the coffee sucked. The owner was a man in his thirties named Phil Coulson, and he was easily the sexiest man Clint had ever met.

Phil wasn't classically handsome. He was a little too wiry and his nose was just a bit too off-center and his hairline receded just a bit too much for that, but Clint thought that he was much more attractive that way. It gave him a certain kind of character that counterbalanced his big hands and firm arms and solid shoulders. When Phil really smiled, it was sweet and extended all the way up to his eyes. And his eyes were Clint's favorite part. They were blue and so very kind, and they crinkled at the corners. Phil had a way of looking at him with those kind eyes that made Clint feel utterly safe and relaxed, and Clint had always been a sucker for kind eyes. He'd been stupidly infatuated with Phil ever since the first time he'd walked into Uncommon Grounds four years before as a nervous twenty-one year old Freshman who had a GED and was finally starting to use the second chance he'd been given. Phil had given him a coffee on the house to welcome him to New York and had advised him to color code his notes to make his studying and essay writing easier, and then he hadn't asked for anything in return.

Natasha was constantly trying to convince him to ask Phil out on a date, but Clint knew how the world worked. It was hard not to know your place when you grew up poor and at the very bottom of the totem pole, and it was very clear to him that Phil was completely out of his league. Asking him out would just make things awkward, and then Clint wouldn't be able to see Phil anymore, which he didn't think he could stand. Not to mention that he'd have to find a new coffee shop.

The walk to the shop didn't take long, but the winter air was brisk and freezing, and Clint was shivering by the time they reached Uncommon Grounds. Admittedly, the black leather jacket that he wore from October to April wasn't quite as thick as a winter coat should have been, but it had been a gift from Natasha last Christmas, and he loved it too much to buy something heavier. Natasha didn't appear all that phased, but she was from Russia, which apparently made her impervious to the cold. The rush of warm air that hit them as they opened the door had him sighing in relief, and he pushed past Natasha to rush through the door first. Ungentlemanly it may have been, but he was cold as hell, so he didn't even feel bad.

It appeared that Phil had finally gotten around to decorating for Christmas since the last time Clint had been here, and the inside of the cozy little shop looked appropriately festive. The ice-frosted windows were lined with multi-colored fairy lights that blinked lazily on and off, and glittery white snowflake ornaments hung from the ceiling. The menu boards had little Santas and Christmas wreaths and presents drawn all around the borders, which Clint assumed was the work of Darcy, the high school girl who worked in the afternoons. There was a small tree set up in the corner by the window, decorated with little coffee-themed ornaments, and the scent of pine mingled nicely with the spicy scent of the gingerbread Phil must have had baking in the kitchen. The atmosphere was topped off by the muted sounds of _Jingle Bell Rock_ from the speakers in the ceiling. It looked like the perfect Christmas, and Clint felt a pang of longing in his chest at the sight of it.

"Come on, I'm starving," Natasha said, pushing at his back to get him to move towards the counter. He snapped out of his sudden Christmas melancholy and followed her towards the counter. Phil's face lit up with a smile when he saw them coming towards him, and Clint's stomach immediately turned to mush. He couldn't help but smile back, and he hoped that he didn't look as smitten as he felt.

"It looks amazing in here," Natasha told him, and Phil smiled again, clearly pleased.

"Thanks! I can't believe it took me so long to get the decorations up this year. It's practically half way through the month already!" Phil said. "I guess I'm getting slow in my old age."

Clint snorted at the idea of Phil ever letting himself get slow, let alone by something as trivial as age. Phil's eyes flicked over from Natasha to Clint, and his smile dimmed a bit, which made Clint want to shrivel up and die, but also do everything he could to fix it at the same time.

"God, Clint, you look like a zombie," Phil said, making Clint wince. "Are you sick?"

"Nah, just studying. Finals, you know," Clint shrugged, wishing desperately that he had thought to look in a mirror before leaving the apartment. "And on that note, give me the biggest coffee you have with like a hundred espresso shots. I'm gonna need to fill my veins with caffeine if I'm gonna make it through this weekend. And one of those grilled chicken paninis with red peppers…"

"Pepperjack and spinach," Phil finished for him, already moving to start up the espresso machine. "Clint you order the same sandwich every time you come in here, I've got it down by now, I promise." Clint smiled sheepishly, secretly pleased that Phil knew him so well and bothered to remember something small like what he wanted on his sandwich. Natasha also ordered her usual, and they loitered by the counter to chat with Phil while he made their food. They might have even eaten there, if Steve and Bucky hadn't come through the door, bantering with their usual affectionate antagonism.

Bucky was Natasha's boyfriend, Steve was Bucky's best friend, and both of them were Clint and Natasha's roommates, who had apparently both finished their exams and decided to get something to eat before heading home. As Steve and Bucky placed their orders, Clint and Natasha went to claim a table for the four of them, grabbing the one closest to the window with the big mismatched armchairs that they always gravitated towards every time it was free. Clint claimed his favorite chair, the squashy white one covered in big ugly purple and blue flowers, and tore into his sandwich like a starving man. It was delicious, like always, and he may or may not have moaned happily as he chewed.

"Should I leave you two alone?" Natasha asked drily, and Clint just stuck his tongue out at her, showing him his half-chewed food. She scowled at him.

"You're disgusting."

He grinned at her and swallowed the food in his mouth, following it up with a swig of coffee from the truly ridiculous-sized mug Phil had procured from somewhere. It had to be at least a liter of coffee. He sighed in happiness at the taste on his tongue, and took a moment to wish that he could afford to eat every meal there.

"I don't see the big deal, Steve," Bucky was saying as they approached, food and coffee in hand. "Just go home with the guy for Christmas. It's not like you'll have to meet his parents."

"We've only been dating for three months!" Steve defended. "Doesn't it seem a bit soon to be living with him?"

"Oh please, it's not like you're moving in. It's a month!" Bucky insisted.

"Yeah, I guess," Steve sighed, taking a large bite of his muffin. "I don't know. It just seems kind of serious…"

Steve was interrupted by the door slamming open, the bell clanging loudly, and Darcy rushing in like whirlwind.

"Sorry Boss!" she called, unwinding her scarf from around her neck as she rushed towards the counter. "I got held up after class, but it's totally cool now! Go ahead and eat, you must be starving, I got this!"

Phil just looked amused as Darcy hung up her coat and scarf and then shooed him out from behind the counter. He grumbled at her quietly, reaching into the cooler to grab a bottle of water and requesting that she make him a panini; her punishment for being late.

"Come sit with us, Phil!" Natasha called, shooting Clint a pointed look as she moved to sit in Bucky's lap to free up her chair for Phil. Bucky didn't even seem to notice when she sat on him, his argument with Steve apparently having degenerated to an intense staring contest.

"So what I'm getting here," Natasha said as Phil approached with a bottle of water and his sandwich, "is that Tony's invited you to stay with him for Christmas and you're not sure if that's moving too fast?"

"Right!" Steve said, as Bucky groaned.

"There's nothing fast about it, it's a visit for Christ's sake. You're not going to be meeting any family or anything, they're all dead!"

"Did you ever think that maybe he just doesn't want to be alone on Christmas?" Natasha asked, cocking her eyebrow in that Natasha way that immediately made everyone in the vicinity feel stupid. "Bucky just said he hasn't got any family. Maybe he just thought it would be nice to spend Christmas with his boyfriend instead of by himself. Again."

Steve looked stricken for a moment, and then he groaned loudly and covered his face with his hand. "Well why wouldn't he say that then?" he whined. "That would have been so much easier, and I've been such a jerk, being so indecisive…"

"You know Tony," Natasha said. "He'd never ask for anything serious if he could disguise it under nonchalance and jokes."

"Why didn't I think of that?" Steve asked, looking like a kicked puppy, which was quite an accomplishment for a six foot tall man who was strapped with muscle. "I'm the worst boyfriend ever. I'll be right back, I've got to go call Tony. I guess I'm going to Malibu for Christmas."

"And then there was one," Clint intoned dramatically. Natasha frowned and Clint immediately felt bad. It wasn't her fault that Clint's only living family was completely off grid. She was totally allowed to have a life.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to come to Russia with us, _Ptichka_?" she asked, and Bucky scowled. As he and Natasha had been dating for three years, they were at a completely appropriate level for him to be meeting her parents. He could understand that Bucky would be annoyed at having Clint tag along for that, and he really had no intention of intruding. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't afford a plane ticket to Russia.

"Really, I'm sure," Clint assured her, and Bucky offered him a bro nod. "I'd probably piss off your mafioso father and get disappeared."

Bucky laughed, but Clint noticed that it sounded kind of nervous, like he was worried about something like that happening to him. They always teased Natasha about her family being part of the Russian mob due to the fact that she was pretty private about her family life and stoic as stoic could be. But every time they made mention of it, Nat didn't deny it, and smiled a catlike smile that really made them wonder if they were actually right about her potential mafia connections.

"I couldn't afford it anyway," he said, changing tacks so as not to make Bucky too nervous about being banished to the Siberian tundra. "I've got to start saving up for my grad school applications, you know? Plus, like, food and stuff."

"So you're staying in New York over Christmas then?" Phil asked, fiddling with his water bottle.

"Yeah," Clint sighed. "Just me and the big city. Whatever, New York is a fucking magical place to be during Christmas. All the movies say so."

Phil smiled at him, and Clint's heart skipped a beat. "Well, I'll be here too. If you get lonely you can come by and I'll make you a sandwich on the house."

"Deal," Clint agreed immediately. An excuse to spend more time around Phil and free food? There was absolutely no way he was passing _that_ up. Natasha looked satisfied with that answer, her eyes flicking assessingly between Phil and Clint, back and forth like she was trying to push them together with just the power of her mind. Clint thought he wouldn't mind that so much.

After a few minutes, Steve came back inside and their conversation turned, inevitably, to finals. Phil only laughed at them and expressed how glad he was that he didn't have to worry about school and testing anymore. All in all, it turned out to be a very good break, and exactly what Clint needed. When they got back home, he sat down and banged out his entire essay in an hour.

Unfortunately, the studying for his test didn't go quite as smoothly. The next day was absolute hell. He was trying to cram an entire semester's worth of Quantum Theory into his brain, and his brain didn't seem to appreciate it very much. He spent all day locked in his room with a big KEEP OUT sign posted on his door, hoping that complete silence and isolation would help him focus. Honestly, he thought it was just driving him stir crazy. He'd find himself staring at the wall with intense focus instead of comprehending any of the information he was supposed to be absorbing. It took a few minutes to get himself back on track, and then within another ten he'd find himself staring blankly at the wall again.

He was finally driven out of his room at six o' clock when his stomach started to growl too loudly for him to ignore. He kicked something as he came out, and looked down to the ground to see what it was in annoyance. Bucky had the worst habit of leaving his stuff all over the place, and it drove Clint crazy. He couldn't count how many times he'd tripped over Bucky's school bag or a lone shoe. What he found, though, definitely wasn't a shoe.

There was a small purple box about the size of a tissue box at his feet wrapped in purple paper and tied with a white ribbon. A small white piece of cardstock was folded in half and stuck under the ribbon, and his name was written on it in neat, blocky handwriting. He frowned, a little curious as to why someone would leave a present outside of his door, but then he caught sight of the sign he'd hung and thought that maybe they had just decided to heed his wishes. Still, if it was something from one of his roommates, he didn't see why they would have gone to the trouble of wrapping it up so nicely. More likely, they would have just stuck it in the kitchen with a post-it note. But who else could have gotten in to their apartment and left a gift for him?

He pulled the cardstock free from the ribbon and opened it to find a message written in the same blocky hand.

_"Did you know that green tea stimulates the brain? Good luck with your studying."_

It wasn't signed, and the handwriting wasn't one that he recognized. He retreated back into his room and dropped onto his bed so that he could work on untying the ribbon and pulling off the paper. The box turned out to be a plain white one, just meant to make the present easier to wrap. Inside the box, though, was a bag of Asian pear green tea leaves and a little tea infuser shaped like a fat bird with striped wings that would float on top of the water. He smiled at the thoughtfulness of the gift, wishing he knew who had sent it so that he could thank them.

His stomach growled again and he took the hint, getting up off his bed and heading towards the kitchen with his gifts in hand. It wouldn't hurt to try the tea, and he definitely could use some brain stimulation.

Natasha was in the kitchen when he got there, leaning back against the counter and eating Honey-Nut Cheerios out of a bright yellow bowl. She raised her eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything. Clint waved at her and set the tea and the infuser on the counter, turning to rifle through the fridge for something to eat. There were a few slices of leftover pizza that he claimed for himself, shoving a piece in his mouth before he'd even withdrawn his head from the fridge. When he turned around the set the box on the counter, he saw that Natasha was inspecting his gifts, the little bird infuser held up at eye level.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, and Clint shrugged.

"I don't even know, man. I opened my door and there was this box sitting there, wrapped up like a present and a card that had my name on it, so I opened it up and this was inside. Apparently green tea is supposed to stimulate the brain." At her raised eyebrow, he shrugged again. "There was a note too. It's in my room." He grabbed the kettle off the stove top and filled it with water, setting it to boil as Natasha continued to study the bird.

"Why a partridge?" she finally asked.

"I have no idea," Clint said, kind of surprised that she'd been able to identify it. "I didn't even know what kind of bird it was. But it's kinda cool, isn't it? See the infuser is on the bottom, so it'll float when I put it in my cup. Like it's swimming on top."

"Yeah," Natasha said slowly, thoughtfully. "It's cute. And you have no idea who left it for you?"

Clint shook his head. "None. And I know I should probably be weirded out about it, but honestly it's kinda nice. Someone's just trying to be kind to me for no reason, which doesn't really happen all that often. So I'm just gonna roll with it."

Natasha hummed thoughtfully before setting the partridge back on the countertop. "Fair enough," she conceded. "How's the studying going?"

Clint groaned loudly and spent the next few minutes bitching about how much he hated his life as he finished his pizza and made up his new tea in the Hufflepuff mug Natasha had gotten him for his birthday.

"But anyway," Clint said as his tea finished steeping, fishing the infuser out of the cup by grabbing the bird around the neck. "I've got to go study some more. Hopefully the magic tea will help." He raised his mug to her as a goodbye and headed back towards his room, sipping as he went. The tea was nice and really did taste like pears, and he found himself smiling into his mug as he sat back down at his desk. He didn't know if it would actually help him retain anything, but it was the thought that counted, and the idea that someone had bothered to think about him at all went a long way towards making studying seem a little less horrible.

* * *

He spent his Sunday in isolation as well, coming out of his room only to pee or get something to eat. When he'd returned from one of his bathroom breaks, he'd found another, smaller purple wrapped box sitting on top of his notebook. Clint had smiled to himself and started untying the ribbon, noting that this box didn't have a note attached. He'd torn through the wrapping paper quickly, and when he opened the box he had found a collection of chocolate Turtles and Dove candies, along with another note settled on top.

_"It's kind of a stretch, I admit, but I thought it would be better than more birds. Here's a little brain food for your studying. You're smart, and I know you can do it."_

He hadn't really understood what they gifter had meant by the gift being a stretch, but in the end he had just been happy with it and dug in to the candy.

He'd gotten up very early Monday morning and trudged to his exam like a man on death row, but the travel mug full of pear flavored green tea and the few pieces of candy he'd thrown in his coat pocket as a reward for later had made him smile despite his worries about the test.

The test had, as expected, been horrendous, but Clint thought he'd done okay on it, and was fairly certain he hadn't failed. Now, though, the test was over, and Clint found it much easier to just not care about it anymore. Either he'd passed or he hadn't, and there wasn't anything he could do to change that. At any rate, he was finished with finals for the semester, and that was reason enough to be happy.

He was surprised to find Natasha waiting for him outside the Physics building when he emerged, but she acted as if it wasn't unusual at all.

"How did your test go?" she asked as he approached her.

"Eh, okay. Not terrible," he said noncommittally. It felt kind of like jinxing himself to commit to an answer.

"_Right_," Natasha said, drawing out the 'i' sound. "Well, come on, let's go to Uncommon Grounds. I'm starving."

Clint winced at the idea, knowing there wasn't a lot of money in his bank account. His job had been cutting his hours like crazy lately, and he barely made enough to cover rent and food. Hell, sometimes he didn't make enough and he had to get his roommates to help him out until the next paycheck. It always made him feel like the worst kind of asshole when it happened, even though they were his friends and insisted that they didn't mind because he always paid them back as soon as he had the money. He didn't like owing people debts. He thought, not for the first time, that it was probably time to start looking for another job.

"I can't really afford it right now," he admitted. "I've got to pay my phone bill next week and rent's coming up the week after that. But I don't mind hanging out while you eat…"

"Don't be stupid," Natasha scoffed, waving her hand in the air like it could retract his statement. "I'll buy you something. What's the good in getting a weekly allowance from my mobster parents if I can't use it to buy my best friend lunch every once in a while?"

He felt awkward about it, but long exposure to both Nat and Tony Stark had taught him that you didn't turn them down when they offered to pay for something. It only offended them.

"Yeah, okay," he said grudgingly after a moment, forcing a smile at her mob joke. "Thanks."

Natasha didn't acknowledge his gratitude, just linked her arm through his and started steering him in the direction of Uncommon Grounds like she thought he might try to run away from her. He sighed and let her lead him.

"Maybe you should ask Phil if he'd consider hiring you," Natasha said thoughtfully as they walked. "Darcy is his only employee, he must need some more help while she's in school, right?"

"I don't know, Nat," Clint sighed. "Even if he was willing to hire me, I don't know that I could spend that much time with him and not let him see how I feel about him."

"Well, that sounds like a plus to me," Natasha retorted. "I don't know why you're so insistent on lusting after him from afar."

"You mean besides the fact that he's way out of my league? He just wouldn't be interested and I don't want to have to start avoiding him."

Natasha jabbed him in the side. "He's not out of your league, and anyway, I don't see why you don't just ask him out. You've been pining after him for years and the worst he could do is say no, and if he does, that doesn't mean you can never show your face in front of him again. You just grow a pair, accept that he's not interested, and then continue on with things as they are now."

"Yeah, except there's no chance that he's going to say yes, so why should I even make things awkward at all? It's just better that I don't say anything," Clint insisted, scuffing the battered toes of his Chucks against the sidewalk.

Natasha shot him a dark look and pursed her lips, but thankfully she didn't press the subject anymore. "Fine, be a baby then. But I still think you should ask Phil about a job." Clint didn't answer her, running the idea through his head as they walked.

Uncommon Grounds was pretty dead when they got in, but that wasn't too surprising considering it was two o' clock on a Monday. Most people were at work or school.

"Hey Phil!" Natasha greeted as they entered, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully.

"Ah, hey, how are you guys?" Phil greeted, turning to fire up the panini grill. "The regular?"

"Sandwich yes, but can I get an eggnog latte?" Clint interrupted. It was a bit more expensive than his usual order, but Clint knew Natasha wouldn't mind.

"Of course!" Phil answered cheerfully, ringing up their orders and running Natasha's card while he waited for the grill to heat up. "Did you take that test yet, Clint?"

"Yeah,I just got out of it," Clint sighed. "It kinda sucked, but I'm glad it's over."

"I'm sure you did fine," Phil placated. "You're very smart."

Clint couldn't deny the thrill of pleasure that ran through him at Phil's words. Phil thought he was smart. Obviously, Clint knew he wasn't stupid, but it was really nice to know that Phil saw past the rough exterior and realized that he was more than he appeared to be. Most people didn't bother.

"Thanks," Clint answered quietly, his mouth kind of dry. Phil smiled warmly at him before turning away to start putting their order together.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," Natasha announced, sending Clint a very pointed look before she turned on her heel and headed towards the back of the shop.

"So, um…" Clint said, stopping for a moment to clear his throat and wishing he didn't feel quite so awkward. "Have you considered hiring anyone else lately?"

"I have a bit," Phil admitted. "It would make my life much easier if I had someone to help me out during the morning rushes. But I've kind of hesitated about it because I'm not really good at having other people do things I can technically do myself. It's kind of a problem of mine."

"Micromanager?" Clint asked, suddenly rethinking Natasha's idea. He couldn't stand having someone breathing down his neck and double checking his work all the time. It made him feel incompetent.

"No, not at all," Phil denied, tossing a look at Clint over his shoulder that clearly said he was insulted that Clint even had to ask. "More like a control freak, I guess? But once I convince myself to give up some of that control, I accept it and trust that person to do what needs to be done. It's the initial part that gets to me; admitting that I need help and can't do everything by myself, you know?" Phil turned away from the grill for a minute to start making their drinks.

"Yeah," Clint said, thinking about how worthless he felt every time he had to ask one of his roommates to front him some money for the rent. "Yeah, I get that."

"Why do you ask?" Phil asked. "Know someone who's looking for a job?"

"Yeah," Clint said. "Me, actually. I work at a restaurant right now, but I'm not really getting that many hours, you know? I mean, I totally don't want to be all up in your face about hiring me or anything. But if you, you know, decide that you might want to hire someone, I hope that you'll consider me. I can fill in an application and everything, if you have one."

Phil looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment before he nodded slowly. "How many hours would you want? And how much would you want to be paid?"

Clint hesitated for a moment. He hated when people asked him what he thought his labor was worth. "Ah well. Full time, if I can get it. And I guess like...ten bucks an hour? Like I know that's kind of a lot for a new employee, but honestly it's the least I can take and still afford to live in my apartment and eat, you know?"

Phil nodded thoughtfully for a moment before saying, "An application won't be necessary. I already know you and I trust you, so it's not like I need references. And I know you're smart and a quick learner. I'll tell you what, give me your phone number and tonight I'll look over my books and see if I can afford to take on another employee and I'll call you tomorrow to let you know."

"That...that sounds awesome," Clint breathed, trying not to feel too relieved, because he didn't know that Phil would actually be able to employ him. "Like, really, thanks man." He grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and dug one of the pens he'd brought for his test out of his coat pocket, scrawling his number down and sliding it across the counter. Phil finished plating up the food and then slid the napkin into his pocket.

"Well, don't thank me yet," Phil warned, but his smile was warm and Clint was pretty sure he was going to melt into a puddle of goo. Natasha chose that moment to reappear, grabbing her plate and coffee off the counter before turning away immediately to go find a seat.

"Thanks, Phil," she called over her shoulder.

"Yeah, thanks Phil," Clint echoed her, grabbing his food and following her. Despite it being the same thing he got every time he went to Uncommon Grounds, his panini tasted particularly good that day.

* * *

When they got home later, he found a long rectangular box wrapped in purple paper and tied off with a ribbon sitting on the counter in the kitchen.

"What's that?" Natasha asked as he made a beeline for it, immediately pulling off the ribbon.

"Remember how I got the tea and the infuser?" Clint asked. "Well yesterday I got some candy, and both of those were wrapped the same as this one."

"Do you even know who is giving you these gifts?" Natasha asked, looking suspiciously at the box like she thought it might explode.

"No," Clint admitted. "But I mean, so far it's been food and I haven't died yet. It's just someone being nice to me during exams, you know? Like...taking care of me while I stress myself out. Kinda like the care packages your mom sends you with Russian candy, you know? Except for clearly whoever this is isn't my mom. But it kind of feels like the same intention."

"Well," Natasha said slowly. "I suppose it's not hurting anything. But aren't you wondering how this person keeps managing to get these boxes in here?"

Clint shrugged and grimaced. "Yeah, okay, so that's kinda suspicious. But I guess I'm just letting it go because it feels nice to know that someone's doing something nice for me just because, you know? It's nice to feel cared about."

"I care about you, _Ptichka_," Natasha reminded him, sounding almost offended.

"I know you do, Tasha," Clint assured her. "But this just feels different, you know? Like...I don't know. Like maybe the difference in the way you care about me and the way you care about Bucky?"

Natasha pursed her lips and met his eyes searchingly, like she thought he was keeping an entire illicit affair from her or something. He didn't know what she saw when she looked at him, but eventually she nodded and gestured towards the gift.

"Well? Are you going to open it?" Clint grinned and started tearing at the paper, revealing, once again, a plain white box. Inside the box, however, was a bottle of handcrafted Belgian dark ale called 3 French Hens. The note inside was written in the same writing on the same card as last time, and simply said, _"Exams are over! Have a drink to celebrate!"_

"Huh," Clint said, looking at the bottle. "What a weird name." He offered it to Natasha so she could look, and an odd smile crossed her face.

"What did you say you got yesterday?" she asked, turning the bottle over in her hands.

"Chocolate," Clint told her with a shrug.

"Was it Dove and chocolate Turtles?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah," he answered slowly, his brow furrowing at her in confusion. "How did you know that?"

She tapped the label on the bottle, her fingernail clinking against the dark glass. "Three French Hens," she said. "And yesterday was Turles and Doves. And the day before that it was a partridge in a pear tea."

"Oh," Clint said, and then, when he got it, "Oh! It's the Twelve Days of Christmas!"

Natasha nodded sagely. "Looks like you've got another nine days of gifts coming," she said. "I wonder how they're gonna pull off ten lords a leaping?"

Clint laughed loudly, tickled by the warm, happy feeling in his stomach. Someone was going to the trouble to give him clever gifts for twelve days in a row, and he didn't even know why. But he did know it made him feel damn good about himself, and suddenly he was really looking forward to the days to come, even when he had been kind of depressed about being alone on Christmas just five minutes ago.

"I think you have an admirer," Natasha said when she handed the bottle back.

"I dunno," Clint denied, though he secretly felt thrilled at the idea. "I mean...it could just be that someone is being nice because they know I'm alone for the holidays and they think I'm pathetic and need a pick-me-up."

"It could be that," Natasha agreed. "Except they chose to go with the trouble of doing twelve creative gifts in twelve days instead of leaving just one anonymously and being done with it. And also, the words are a little spot on for a random act of kindness aren't they?" she asked. And then, before he could ask, she sang, "On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…" trailing off and staring at him meaningfully.

"So, what?" Clint asked. "You think I'm being courted with Christmas songs?"

"You're definitely being courted with Christmas songs," Natasha agreed.

"Huh," Clint said thoughtfully, looking back down at the note that he'd dropped on the counter. He kinda wish he'd kept the other two as well, and he made a mental note to look through the trash can in his room to see if he could find them.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Natasha asked.

"I'm not really sure," Clint admitted, leaning back against the counter. "I mean...there's Phil, who I've been...I don't know…."

"In love with?" Natasha suggested dryly.

"No, not love. I mean...I feel like I could love him, really easily, but it's definitely not at that point yet. Something between want and love. "Like" just seems so third grade," he complained, wracking his mind for the word.

"Yearning?" Natasha asked innocently. "Lusting, languishing, being warm for his form?"

"Oh my god, shut up!" Clint cried, waving his hands in front of him as if to ward off her words. "I hate you so much."

"No you don't," Natasha sang at him. "And I think the word you're looking for is 'pining'."

And as much as he hated to admit it, she was absolutely right.

"Okay, yeah, pining. I'm just saying, though, I've pined after Phil for years. He's gorgeous and he's so kind. Like, the nicest guy I've ever met and he doesn't even try. But he's way out of my league and I know it. I just don't have a chance with him," Clint sighed, wishing that he could talk about this and not sound quite so pathetic. "And now I'm getting really nice surprise gifts from someone who has obviously put a lot of thought into this. Like, this is really sweet and I can't help but think that, whoever it is, maybe they really like me. And part of me loves that, and thinks that I should just try to get over Phil and focus on this person who wants me. But at the same time I'm not really sure that I want to move on from Phil, which is just so stupid, I know. It doesn't make any sense. Like, I could have a chance at really liking this person, and I could potentially be happy with them. But I also kind of feel like it's not fair to them to do anything when I've obviously got it bad for Phil still. And I'm not sure that I'm ready to give Phil up."

"Phil's not yours, _Ptichka_," Natasha reminded him gently. "He could be, though, if you manned up and asked him. He likes you, you know."

"Well yeah, he likes me," Clint agreed. "But not like that."

"Look, Clint," Natasha said flatly, her gentle tone gone, replaced with annoyance. "You have three options: you can spend the rest of your life pining after Phil like a pathetic puppy, you can man up and tell Phil that you want to date him, or you can move on. That doesn't mean you have to date whoever is sending you gifts, of course, but I suppose that is option four, if that's what you want. But eventually you're going to have to make a choice."

"I know," Clint sighed. "I just don't know what the right choice is."

"You're smart," Natasha assured him. "You'll figure it out. Now, I've got to go check and make sure that James has started packing. He always puts it off to the last minute. Will you be all right?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Clint waved her off. "Just, you know, trying to sort my life out. What else is new?"

Clint took his gift to his room with him, along with the card that had come with it. None of the cards had been particularly affectionate or anything, but he still liked the stark look of it and the thought behind them. They hadn't just been gifts given without thought, certainly. The paper they'd been wrapped in was his favorite color, and the gifter had taken into account that it was finals time, and in their own way had offered support and encouragement, and he appreciated that down to his core.

Growing up an orphan had meant that he pretty much had to fend for himself for most of his life, particularly after Barney got sent to jail and Clint realized that Trick didn't actually care about him at all. He was used to it, but the idea of someone trying to take care of his little needs and wants made him feel pretty gooey inside.

He found the other two cards in the trash can. One of them had a bent corner, but other than that they were both fine. He attached them to the tackboard mounted above his desk, pinned open so that he could read the little messages as many times as he wanted to. The blocky handwriting looked was neat and efficient, and it didn't look like it was trying too hard. There wasn't any fanfare or flowery words, just simple messages in neat hand, and they brightened up his day.

But he wasn't sure that they brightened up his day more than seeing Phil smile did.

Clint groaned loudly in frustration and headed over to the door to flip off his light. It was still the middle of the day, so it didn't actually make it that much darker, but it would do. He was going to take a nap, and maybe when he woke up, all his problems would be gone and his life would be sorted out. It wasn't very likely, of course, but that didn't mean he couldn't dream.

* * *

Clint was sitting on Natasha and Bucky's bed, watching as Natasha sorted through Bucky's suitcase to make sure he had everything he needed, when his phone rang. He didn't recognize the phone number, but sometimes people from work used the phone register to call and see if he could switch shifts, so he answered it anyway.

And then he nearly had a stroke when he realized it was Phil Coulson's voice greeting him on the other end of the line. Stupidly, he hadn't really thought about the fact that giving Phil his phone number would mean that Phil would be _calling_ him. And, he realized with a little thrill, he now had _Phil's_ phone number. Or at least the phone number to Uncommon Grounds, but Clint was going to count it anyway. He had to take his victories where he could get them.

"Clint? Are you there?" Phil's voice snapped him back to attention, and Clint realized that he'd drifted off in his own thoughts and had been completely ignoring Phil.

"God, I'm sorry! Natasha was asking me a question!" he lied quickly, earning a raised eyebrow from Natasha.

"That's all right," Phil assured him calmly. "As I was saying, I went over my finances last night, and I'd be pleased to offer you a job. I can take you on full time, at eleven dollars an hour. Is that okay with you?"

Clint was stunned. Not only was Phil pretty much saving his ass by offering him a job that Clint had only asked about yesterday, but he was offering to pay more than Clint had asked, when Clint had no experience working in a coffee shop. From anyone else, it would have been extremely suspicious, but from Phil it was just the pure unadulterated kindness that Clint had come to expect from him. As long as Clint had known him, Phil had always gone out of his way to help him out, giving advice when he thought it was warranted and sometimes even pressing a free coffee or pastry on him when it was obvious that Clint's funds were low. Phil was the best kind of person, much better than Clint. Phil was the kind of person that Clint couldn't even touch.

He realized that Phil was waiting for an answer, so Clint cleared his throat and swallowed.

"Um, yeah, that's more than okay. That's great actually. I mean...you do know that I've got like zero experience, right?"

"I do," Phil assured him, sounding a bit amused. "But I know you'll pick it up quickly, and I know I can depend on you to do your very best. I think you're worth the investment."

Clint didn't need to see Natasha smirking at him to know that he was blushing. He was just glad that he was on the phone so that Phil didn't see it. He'd never really had anyone think he was worth their time before. He'd been of use to people, of course. When he was smaller and the only one who could fit in through the air vents and basement windows to get the front doors unlocked, or to get past alarm systems, he had been of use.

Clint viciously pushed that thought from his mind. He had promised himself that he wouldn't think of those times Before. He had a new life now, a better life, and obsessing over the past wouldn't help him.

"Wow," Clint said, and he hated the way his voice cracked. "Thanks, Phil. It means a lot. Like, really."

"You're welcome," Phil said warmly. "Now, are you free some time today to come down? Bring your social security card and your license and we can get your paperwork done, and maybe even get started on learning how to run some of the machines."

Clint looked at his watch, noting it was just past noon. "Yeah, sure, I don't have to do anything until six," he said. "I can come right now, if you want."

"That sounds fine," Phil said. "I'll see you soon."

"Yeah," Clint said, kind of breathlessly. "See you."

"What was that all about?" she asked suspiciously. "Did you ask Phil on a date finally?"

Clint made a face at her, but she just raised her eyebrows in a clear demand for information.

"No," he said when she wouldn't stop. "I took your advice yesterday while you were in the bathroom and I asked Phil if he might be willing to think about hiring me. He just offered me a job, eleven bucks an hour and full time."

"That's great news," Natasha said. "But I thought you were concerned about spending all that extra time around Phil?"

Clint grimaced. "Yeah, I am. I mean, I'm not an animal, I can keep from mauling him. But it's certainly not going to help me get any distance to clear my head and decide what I need to do about sorting out my lack of a love life. But I've got to be practical, you know? I'm not making enough to live on at Aureole, and Phil's offer is amazing when you consider that I have no experience. I can't afford to refuse him, especially when I'm the one who asked in the first place. I have no doubts that Phil went out of his way to arrange employment for me."

"Because he has feelings for you," Natasha said immediately.

"Because he has a soft spot for strays and he's ridiculously kind," Clint countered. "I'm a big boy, and I'll figure it out, okay?"

"Okay," Natasha said. "I trust that you know what you're doing. But when you inevitably have some sort of breakdown crisis just remember that Moscow is nine hours ahead of New York and if you wake me up in the middle of the night I will kill you."

"Noted," Clint said dryly. "Now, I've got to go find my social security card and then head out. I'll see you later."

"Bring me home a blueberry scone!" Natasha called after his retreating back.

* * *

Uncommon Grounds was fairly busy when Clint finally got there, after spending almost an hour practically tearing his room apart looking for his Social Security card and finally finding it, inexplicably, in his sock drawer. It was getting to be the end of the lunch rush, but Phil didn't seem pressured at all.

"Oh good, you're here!" He greeted when he spotted Clint, popping a lid on a to-go cup and sliding it over to a businessman who was practically glued to his BlackBerry. "What can I get you?" he added to the next person.

"Yeah, sorry," Clint said. "I couldn't find…"

"It's not a problem," Phil assured him as he moved over to start making another coffee. "I've been pretty busy anyway, so you would have just been sitting around waiting for me anyway. Go on take a seat, I'll be with you…" Phil was interrupted by the sound of a timer going off. "Actually, can you go in back and take the muffins out of the oven and put the next trays in? They're already all set up, just pop them in and set the timer for thirty minutes, please."

"No problem, boss," Clint said, adding a sarcastic salute for effect, which made Phil smile.

Clint had never been in the back of Uncommon Grounds. Honestly, he'd never really had a reason to be. It looked pretty similar to any of the other food prep areas Clint had ever seen with a lot of stainless steel, a big shelving rack of ingredients, behind which sat a desk, shoved into the corner, and a large sink area in the very back. On the left wall was a big heavy metal door that looked like it led to a walk-in refrigerator, and past that were two large ovens, stacked one on top of the other. He found a pair of oven mitts that were bright pink and scattered with bright orange polka dots resting on a table next to four trays of what looked to be raspberry chocolate chip muffins. Using the garish oven mitts, he switched the trays out and reset the timer. The muffins looked and smelled delicious, and it took all of his willpower not to eat one. Phil always baked the best things.

There was a large cooling rack set up at the back of the counter space, so Clint tipped the muffins out and arranged them on the rack to cool before he headed out to the front of the shop again. The line was a bit shorter, but still extending almost to the door.

"Grab a muffin or something, take a seat," Phil instructed, nodding his head at the display case of baked goods. "I'll be with you as soon as I can."

"It's not a problem," Clint shrugged, going immediately for one of the raspberry chocolate chip muffins. "Like I said, I don't have to be anywhere until six." He took his muffin and claimed his favorite armchair, settling in with his phone to wait.

He beat his high score on Fruit Ninja by the time the rush died out and Phil came to join him, toting two large mugs with him. Clint was surprised when Phil handed him one of the mugs and he found that it wasn't coffee, but apple cider with ground cinnamon and clove floating in it.

"I didn't know you sold apple cider here," Clint said.

"I don't," Phil responded, sipping from his own mug and then smiling in a pleased sort of way. "I keep it in the shop around Christmas because my mom used to make it for me when I was a kid and it makes me miss her a little less. It's an employee only treat." He added this last part with a conspiratorial wink. Clint grinned at him and took a drink, delighting in the taste of cinnamon and apple on his tongue.

"Damn, that's good," he said when he swallowed, and Phil's ears went a little pink with pleasure. Clint had to look away to keep from launching himself across the table. Phil was so damn cute. It really wasn't fair. After a second of slightly awkward silence, Phil cleared his throat and held up the file folder he'd brought to the table.

"It's not really a huge to-do, it's not like this is a corporation," Phil explained. "I just have an employment contract that's pretty general. You agree to your pay, I agree to your pay, stuff like that. You can take a minute to read it over while I go to the back and scan your social security card and your license."

Clint handed over his documents and then started skimming through the contract. It was all really straight-forward and pretty much exactly what Phil had said it would be. Clint had already scrawled his signature on the line by the time Phil had gotten back.

"You signed that pretty quick," Phil said as he sat down again, this time with a cobb salad in a plastic take-out container. "Sorry, I'm gonna eat. I'm starving."

"Nah, go ahead," Clint said, waving him off, and Phil immediately dug into his food. "So, uh, I liked your oven mitts."

Phil groaned loudly and swallowed. "Yeah, my niece picked those out for Christmas last year. She's twelve and has interesting opinions on colors. You should see the shirt she got me for my birthday. It's purple."

"I like purple!" Clint protested, waving a hand at the purple t-shirt he was currently sporting.

"I've noticed," Phil answered dryly. "And it looks very nice on you. But you don't understand. This shirt is like...I can't even really describe it. Like neon purple. And it has an acid green collar. It's really horrible, I promise you."

Clint laughed loudly, trying to picture Phil in a neon colored monstrosity of a shirt. Somehow, the image wasn't exactly computing. Phil almost always looked like he'd just stepped out of a magazine with his neat dark jeans and soft looking sweaters that Clint always wanted to reach out and stroke. During the summers he changed the sweaters for subtly patterned button-up shirts with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. It was a very good look on him, and Clint always appreciated it.

"By the time I finish this, Darcy should be here and then we'll start with the education. Sound good?"

"Yeah," Clint said, sipping at his cider again to keep himself from staring sappily at the smile Phil was shooting him. "Sounds great."

God, he was so fucked.

* * *

True to Phil's word, Darcy had arrived within the next hour and they had spent the rest of Clint's time there teaching him how to make different kinds of coffee. They'd both assured him that he'd done really well for his first day, but Clint knew there was no way he'd be left alone to handle the machines for a while yet. On the way home, Clint had stopped at Aureole to quit. Part of him felt a little bad about not giving a two week notice, but honestly he'd gotten so little hours, he didn't think it would be that difficult for them to find someone to fill in.

Steve and Bucky were in full-on cooking mode by the time Clint got back to the apartment, which was awesome. He had thought that maybe Natasha would try to cook for their designated goodbye-for-the-holidays dinner, but clearly she had finally accepted that cooking was not her forte and had just given in to Bucky and Steve's greater culinary skills.

"Oooh, what's cooking?" Clint asked, trying to peek over their shoulders to see into the pot. It was kind of hard with Steve, but Bucky was the same height as Clint, so he took the advantage where he could.

"Fajitas," Bucky answered, and surely enough Bucky was searing a bunch of colorful vegetables in a skillet and Steve was grating cheese into a bowl, a small mountain of chopped lettuce resting on the cutting board next to him. The smell was making his mouth water, so Clint reached around Bucky quickly and snagged a red pepper. He had it in his mouth before Bucky could yell at him.

"Damn it, Clint, we all have to eat this. Can you not stick your dirty fingers into the pan?" Bucky complained.

"Sorry," Clint shrugged, but he wasn't really that sorry.

"Oh hey," Steve said suddenly. "Someone left you a gift. It's on the coffee table in the living room."

Clint turned to head out of the kitchen, but not before he snagged some of the grated cheese from the bowl. He was followed out by some creative cursing, but he didn't really care. The package sitting on the coffee table was wrapped the same as usual, but when he picked it up it wasn't quite as rigid as the others had been. Whatever it was clearly wasn't in a box. He wondered what it could possibly be, with the theme of four calling birds. And really, it had to be frustrating to try and come up with clever gifts when so many of them were based on birds.

He set the card aside and opened the gift first, too curious to wait. It turned out to be four books, stacked one atop the other. The top one was _To Kill A Mockingbird_. He set it aside and looked at the next, smiling when he saw _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_, which was a movie that he loved. He kept promising himself that he would read the book one day, and now it looked like he would get that chance. The other two were _Black Hawk Down_ and _Where Eagles Dare_. He set them aside and reached for the card, which was fairly apologetic in nature.

_"I managed the four birds, but I dropped the ball on the calling part. Didn't figure you'd appreciate me capturing some pigeons for the cause. I hope you like them anyway."_

Honestly, Clint loved them. He'd never read any of them before, but that wasn't even the point. Someone had given him books, novels, that they actually thought he would enjoy to read. Clint knew the impression he gave off, with all his muscle mass and midwestern simple-guy looks, but he found it kind of annoying that a lot of people didn't look past that and just assumed that he was stupid. Whoever was sending the gifts had sent him something that took brain power. They had assumed that he would take time to read when he didn't have to, which wasn't really the same as declaring that they thought Clint was a genius, but it was faith that he was more than he appeared at first glance, and Clint liked that.

He had just enough time to stash his new books in his room and pin up the fourth note when Bucky called that dinner was ready. Clint's stomach rumbled, and suddenly it seemed like it had been hours since he'd eaten the muffin that Phil had given him. They made a joint effort of getting everything on the table, and within a few minutes they were all digging into their food and, in Clint's case, moaning happily at the taste of peppers and seared chicken. He'd gone hungry enough Before to always appreciate food when he got it. Plus, it was just really good food.

The others spent the time discussing their travel plans for the next day. All three of them would be leaving early in the morning, though Steve would be travelling in style using his boyfriend's private jet while Natasha and Bucky rode coach for nine hours. Clint hoped for their sakes that there were no small children on the flight with them.

"You're being kind of quiet, Clint," Steve observed, ever concerned about the well-being of everyone around him.

"Just don't have a lot to contribute to the conversation," Clint said, shrugging. "Besides, eating. Really great, by the way."

"Thank you," Steve said. "What did you do today?"

Clint had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes he felt like Steve was their den mother, and while he appreciated that Steve cared, sometimes Clint felt like he was a little pushy. Usually, though, it was just better to let Steve ask his questions and answer them as quickly as possible. Otherwise, Steve looked all disappointed and sad, and it tended to give Clint the same feeling that he got when he saw that Sarah Mclachlan animal abuse commercial.

"Uh, well, I went to Uncommon Grounds. Phil gave me a job, so it was all paperwork and him and Darcy showing me the ropes."

Bucky and Steve exchanged a look, and Clint wanted to bang his face into the table. All of his friends knew about his massive crush on Phil. Apparently, it was kind of hard to miss.

"Before you start giving me shit, just know that I've probably already had this conversation with Tasha," he advised, and Natasha looked smug.

"Ah, well," Steve said, and then he trailed off awkwardly for a second. "You're an adult Clint and I trust you know what you're doing. Just, be careful, all right? I don't want you getting hurt."

"I'm not going to do anything stupid," Clint sighed. "Phil doesn't know how I feel about him and it's going to stay that way."

"Well, that's not really what meant!" Steve protested. "I think you and Phil would be a very nice couple. Just that you've been avoiding asking him out since I've known you, and I kinda feel like putting yourself in his presence for long hours almost every day will be trying on you. You might come to resent it."

"It will be fine," Clint sighed. "I promise, it will all be fine, okay?"

"Okay," Steve agreed, but he still sounded doubtful.

"By the way," Bucky interrupted, for which Clint sent him a grateful look. "Did your friend find you?"

Clint frowned at him in confusion. "Uh...what friend?"

"I don't know, he didn't give me his name. A little taller than you, red hair, looked a little shady. He came by around three looking for you, and disappeared pretty quick after I told him you weren't here and I didn't know where you were."

Clint felt like he might sick for a moment. "Did, uh...Did he have a scar running through his eyebrow?" he asked.

Bucky looked thoughtful for a moment before he shrugged. "I didn't notice. Why, who is he?"

"It's nothing," Clint dismissed quickly. "Don't worry about it."

His friends were all suspicious of that, of course, but all Clint could do was hope that they didn't push the issue. They all looked like they wanted to, for a long minute, but Natasha, bless her, came to Clint's rescue.

"So I was thinking that when we all get back home, we could go out and have a little celebration ourselves somewhere. Maybe get a nice dinner?"

Steve looked, for a moment, like he was going to say something, but then he let Natasha distract him. "Yeah, that sounds like it could be really nice," he said. "Did you have any place in mind?"

Clint was quiet as they started making tentative plans. He still had half of his second fajita on his plate, but suddenly he didn't feel hungry anymore. His stomach was roiling with nerves about what his mysterious visitor could mean for the life he had created for himself here. He was trying very hard not to freak out. For all he knew, it could someone completely different.

Maybe, by some blessing of the universe, the shady looking redhead that had appeared at his front door wasn't his brother.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint slept fitfully that night, and when he woke to a phone call in the morning, he almost didn't answer it for fear that it might be Barney. But answer it he did, and good thing too, because it turned out to be Phil.

"I'm not late am I?" Clint asked, rolling over to look at the clock frantically.

"No, not at all," Phil assured him. "I was actually just calling to tell you that it would probably be best if you didn't come in today and came tomorrow instead. I just got a huge last minute order that needs to be filled by tomorrow morning, so I'm not going to have time to be training you today. I'm really sorry, I know this is very last minute."

"Ah, hey, don't worry about it," Clint said quickly. "Everyone loves a day off, right?"

"Yes, well. I know you had trouble with your last job about getting your hours cut," Phil said, and he sounded truly contrite. "I promise you this won't happen again."

"Okay," Clint said, fighting a smile. "Thanks for calling me."

"Thanks for being so understanding. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see ya," Clint murmured, hanging up. He sighed and flopped over onto his back, letting his phone fall somewhere into the sheets on his bed. The apartment was eerily quiet, and it took him a moment to remember that it was because Steve, Bucky, and Natasha had all left extremely early in the morning to catch their flights. No one was wandering around making food or watching TV or banging on the bathroom door to encourage someone else to hurry up. Clint sighed loudly at the thought, staring up at the stark whiteness of his ceiling and wondering what he was supposed to do with himself for the day.

He was seriously considering trying to fall back asleep when he heard a faint ringing. It wasn't his ring tone, but he dug through the sheets to find his phone anyway. True to his suspicions, wherever the noise was coming from, it wasn't his phone. He lifted his head to look around and see if he could find the source of the noise, and he eyes on a purple wrapped parcel on his bedside table. He turned onto his side quickly and practically lunged for it like it might run away from him. Inside the wrapping, he found a cheap burner cellphone that had been painted gold. He stared at it for a long moment, completely confused, before he shrugged and checked to see who had been calling. It turned out to be a text message from a blocked number.

_"Today we're going to do something a little different. I'm sending you on a sort of scavenger hunt. I'll give you a list item, you get a picture of it and send it to me, and I give you the next one. Your first item is: a picture of you eating something you've never tried before. Good luck and have fun."_

Clint smiled to himself and got up so that he could get ready to go and start his hunt. It was kind of silly, honestly, but that didn't make it bad. Honestly, Clint was kind of pleased by it. It would give him something do for the day, and it would help keep his mind off other things, for sure. Plus, the way they had chosen to interpret five golden "rings" was actually really clever.

A quick shower and a change of clothes later found Clint heading towards a Nepali food truck that he'd always considered trying but never actually gotten around to. It always smelled amazing, and he was looking forward to trying it out. The spread looked so good it took Clint a few minutes to decide what he would try. There were skewers loaded with marinated and fried chicken, a bunch of small round dumplings, and something that looked almost like a pizza, but Clint ended up choosing little triangle shaped pieces of dough loaded with chick peas, potato, and chaat masala, which was a mix of spices. It was called a Samosa, and Clint ate his down in three quick and very happy bites, before he remembered that he was supposed to have taken a picture of it. He honestly wasn't that bothered by having to buy another one. In fact, he bought three, and he knew he would be back again. The vendor's English wasn't great, but it was good enough that Clint was able to convince him to photobomb the picture he took.

"Next time you try Aloo Chop," he said earnestly to Clint, pointing at something that looked like a fried potato stuffed with spices and some sort of green-colored sauce. "Very delicious!"

"Yeah, man, absolutely!" Clint responded with a grin and nodding his goodbye. He sent the picture along with a message.

_"It's called a Samosa and it was delicious. I bought four. Am I ever going to find out who you are?"_

Clint walked almost two blocks aimlessly before the phone buzzed again with a response.

_"Looks wonderful, I'm very jealous. You will find out who I am, but this will be much more fun if you wait and let things go to plan. Take a picture with your favorite statue in the city."_

Clint stared at the screen for a long moment, tempted to text back and ask more questions, but eventually he decided against it. It was supposed to be fun and kind of romantic, and Clint didn't want to ruin that. If his mystery admirer wanted to be a mystery a bit longer, Clint could handle that.

He didn't even have to think about his favorite statue in the city. He located the nearest subway entrance and just barely managed to get on the train before it pulled out of the station. He grabbed a seat and settled in to play Temple Run on his phone for the long trip to the Upper East Side.

The statue wasn't much of a walk from 5th avenue and 59th street, where Clint got off, but the area was busy with tourists, and there was a certain art to avoiding them. Tourists tended to stop in the middle of sidewalks to take pictures or tilt their heads back to stare in amazement at the tops of the buildings. It was annoying.

Clint remembered those days himself, the first time he'd made his way into New York City and stood at the base of those huge skyscrapers. He'd never seen anything like it before, and he'd probably pissed plenty of locals off as he'd stared and generally just been in the way.

But Clint had lived in New York for four years now, and the city was definitely home now. He'd earned the right to scoff at tourists and be annoyed by them, and he did it with much gusto. When he reached FAO Schwarz there was a family perched all over the giant teddy bear statue, smiling for a camera being held by a middle aged man in a fanny pack.

Clint waited for him to take a picture before he approached. "Hey man, you want to join them and I'll take a picture of all of you?" he offered. "Just that I'd appreciate it if you'd return the favor after."

The man smiled widely at him, clearly pleased and clearly not from around the area. In Clint's experience, New Yorkers were bred on a general air of distrust and apathy. He lifted his camera from around his neck and handed it over to Clint, pointing out the button to push before doing a half-jog over to his family, fitting himself in just under the tallest block.

If Clint had been planning to steal the man's camera, it would have been extremely easy. All he would have to do was run and get lost in the crowd. He shook the thought sternly from his head and raised the camera up to look at the digital display.

"Smile!" he called a second before snapping the picture. He took two more for good measure before he lowered the camera again. The man jogged back over to collect his camera and take Clint's phone. He seemed pretty bemused by the gold paint, but he didn't say anything. When the rest of his family had clambered off the statue, Clint climbed up. He settled himself on top of the F block and then threw his arms out in a wide gesture, grinning for the picture.

It turned out to be a pretty awesome picture, and Clint thought that he would set it as his facebook default when he got home. He thanked the man and his family before heading off to sit on a nearby bench so that he could send the next text.

_"FAO Schwarz kind of seems like the best childhood anyone could ever ask for, and I get pretty wistful for that kind of thing sometimes. Can I at least know how you managed to get the gifts into my apartment? Because honestly I could find it very creepy, but have so far chosen to ignore it."_

He waited almost twenty minutes for the text to come back.

_"I love that picture. I'd like to take a moment to assure you that I do not think I am creepy and I haven't been breaking into your apartment every day to plant strange gifts. Bucky Barnes makes a most excellent accomplice. Send me a picture of the best view in the city."_

Clint was frozen in shock for a long minute. _Bucky_ had been the one planting all those gifts? Clint could understand if it had been Nat or Steve, but he would have never guessed Bucky. He didn't even think that Bucky liked him that much, and only really put up with him because of Natasha. Maybe he'd been wrong.

The request wasn't an unusual one for a place like New York, which was renowned for some of its views, but Clint's first thought was that Phil Coulson's face lighting up in a smile was the best view in the city. He couldn't very well send that to the person who was going to very elaborate lengths to ask him out, though, so Clint decided to settle on the second best. It was also convenient that the Met wasn't that far away.

He only felt a little bad about not paying the suggested donation, and only because the woman at the ticket counter gave him dirty looks the entire time, as if that would convince him to fork over twenty-five dollars. He smiled cheerfully at her and continued inside, heading straight for the rooftop Garden Cafe. The view from up there was amazing, showcasing the city's skyline while also overlooking Central Park. There were tons of people crowded up there, but Clint managed to wriggle into a good spot so that he could take a picture of the view.

_"I wish I could live somewhere with a view like this,"_ he said in the text. _"Also, can I ask if you're a man or a woman?"_

The reply was almost immediate that time.

_"It is certainly gorgeous. And I am a man. Is that a problem? This is your last task. You'll get one more message after that, and then this number will be deactivated. It's been really nice talking to you, and getting to know more about you. Thanks for indulging me. Take a picture of your favorite place in the city."_

Clint broke his own rule and quickly texted back, _"No, it's not a problem."_

So his mystery suitor was a man. Clint felt a bit of a thrill knowing that. Knowing absolutely nothing made him intensely grateful for even the smallest pieces of information. He was a man, and Clint could maybe imagine him just a little bit better.

For the last picture, Clint headed to Uncommon Grounds. Maybe it was a little close to home, being Phil's shop and all, but Clint couldn't deny that it was absolutely his favorite place in the city. He always felt comfortable and safe there. It was another long subway ride back, but Clint was used to taking long subway rides.

The coffee shop looked positively festive from the outside. It had started to snow while he'd been on the train, and the soft white fluff cling at the windows really added to the overall effect of the decorations and softly glowing lights inside. He took a step back and snapped a picture.

_"Uncommon Grounds has always felt really homey to me. The owner has always been really kind to me, and as of yesterday I actually work here, too. It's pretty awesome. And the coffee is amazing."_ He only hesitated for a second, wondering if his crush on Phil was showing in the message, before he hit the send button. He decided to head in, since he was already there.

Phil emerged from the back, summoned by the sound of the bell over the door jingling. He was wearing a black apron and was covered in flour everywhere except for his hands, which had he clearly taken the time to wash off before he came to the front. He even had a little streak of flour across one cheek, and Clint wanted nothing more than to wipe it away.

"Hey," Phil greeted, and Clint felt the burner phone in his pocket buzz. "What are you doing here?"

"I was walking past and I decided to see if I could convince you to give me some more of that super-secret employees only cider," Clint lied, waggling his eyebrows in a way that made Phil laugh out loud.

"Yeah, of course you can," he said, reaching under the counter and producing a thermos. He poured some of the contents into a pink mug and slid it over the counter to him.

"I'd love to stay and talk with you, but I really do have a lot to get done in the back today," Phil said, looking pained.

"It's okay," Clint assured him, even though he was kind of disappointed. "I'm just gonna drink my cider and then head back home. Good luck with your pastries."

"Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Definitely," Clint agreed, and then Phil was gone.

He retreated over to his favorite chair and fished the burner phone from his pocket. Clint felt oddly like he should savor reading the text, because he knew it would be the last one. But in the end, he couldn't wait anymore.

_"I'm quite fond of Uncommon Grounds as well. I'm glad you've found places that make you feel at home in this city. It can be hard sometimes. For your last golden ring, I'm giving you a head's up as to your gift for the seventh day. Show up at the below address at six-thirty on Friday, and your gift will be there."_

The address listed was in Brooklyn, and Clint forwarded the text to his regular phone so that he wouldn't forget it. After a moment of thought, he forwarded the others as well, just so he could keep them.

The day had been excellent, and Clint didn't think he'd felt that content in a long time. He finished his cider and brought the mug back up to the counter, calling a goodbye to Phil before he left. The snow had picked up into fluffy white flurries, but Clint didn't mind. His good mood lasted all the way up until he reached his apartment complex and found Barney sitting on the front steps.

He didn't know what to say, so he just stopped and stared. It was almost thirty seconds before Barney seemed to realize that he was there and looked up at him a huge grin.

"Hey there little brother!" he greeted, pushing himself to his feet. He was taller than Clint remembered him, but then again Clint thought he was probably taller than Barney remembered too. It was odd, to look his brother in the face without having to tilt his head back. He'd spent the first seventeen years of his life looking up to Barney, and now they were standing face to face, but somehow Clint felt like he had the higher ground.

"Where have you been, man? It's cold as shit out here." Even as he said it, Clint could see that Barney's fingers were chapped red from the cold. He wasn't wearing any gloves even though it was below freezing. Paired with only the thin hoodie he wore and the threadbare jeans, Clint could understand why he was cold. He looked a little hazy and was growing a few days worth of scruff on his chin, and Clint couldn't shake off his foreboding feeling.

"What are you doing here, Barney?" Clint asked, already feeling tired down to his bones. He missed the feeling of content happiness he'd had just a few minutes ago.

"Well, that's a great way to greet your only family," Barney snorted, his face clouding over a bit. Clint had to force himself not to flinch. Barney looked just like their father and he had seen that same face often enough to know it was a precursor to anger. "I came by to see my little brother, is that such a crime?"

"Why now?" Clint asked, crossing his arms over his chest. There was a time when he would have just nodded and smiled and hugged his brother and invited him inside to catch up. Now, he was a little concerned that if he did so, he'd wake up and find that the TV had gone missing.

"Because I fucking missed you, okay?" Barney snapped defensively. "Now are you going to hug me or not?"

Clint heaved a sigh, but he pulled his brother into a hug as requested. He wrinkled his nose at the general smell of his brother and his clothes. He pulled away as quickly as he could without getting Barney angry at him again.

"Dude, how long has it been since you showered?" he asked, and Barney laughed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I've kinda been on the run since, like, Thursday," he admitted. "I'm in some shit, Clint."

"I fucking knew it!" Clint shot back, taking a few steps back as if distancing himself physically from his brother would also distance him from whatever shit Barney was about to try and drag into his life. "What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, Barney?"

Barney suddenly looked fearful, glancing around the street like the invocation of his name at that high of a decibel would call whoever he was running from down on top of him.

"Look, man, it's not a big deal," Barney insisted. "I just need to hide out for a few days…"

"From who?" Clint demanded.

"Does it matter?" Barney snapped. "I'm your fucking brother, the only family you've got, and I'm telling you that I need a place to hide!"

"I'm not fucking hiding you from the cops, Barney!" Clint said, trying to keep from yelling. Just because he wasn't willing to let Barney hide from the law in his apartment didn't mean he actually wanted to bring the cops down on top of him because of a noise complaint.

"It's not the cops, Clint!" Barney growled, his voice low and urgent. "It's just a little mafia problem, okay?"

Clint's laugh sounded strangled and half-crazed even to him. "Oh great, just a little mafia problem! Here I was thinking it was something dangerous! What the fuck did you do, Barney?"

"Nothing!" Barney said defensively. "I've just been selling some stuff for them on the side, and I might have started using some of the merchandise and now they want me to pay them back but I don't really have the money. I just need to disappear for a while, Clint."

Clint had to restrain himself from grabbing Barney by the shoulders and giving him a shake. How could he fuck his own life up and then come and try to bring it down on Clint? He had a life here, people he loved and cared about, and Barney expected him to put all of that in jeopardy because he couldn't keep his nose clean for five minutes?

"Are you trying to fucking bring drugs into my home?" Clint demanded.

Barney looked shifty, his eyes tracking down to his bag like he thought maybe Clint was going to try and steal his drugs from him. He shuffled over a bit to put himself between the bag and Clint.

"It's not a big deal, it's like a few grams of coke," Barney insisted, twitchy and nervous. Part of Clint gave him credit for telling the truth, but most of him was internally raging at his brother for being such an idiot.

"Oh, good, just a few grams of coke," Clint responded sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest. "How could you be so damn stupid, Barney? And now you're here trying to drag me into your trouble. Again! I have a fucking life here, Barney! I'm happy here and I'm gonna graduate from college in May and I really don't need you coming in here and fucking everything up!"

"Oh great, good, you have a life here!" Barney snarled. "Not all of us recovered from our shitty childhood and got off scot free, you know! I was in fucking prison for five years, Clint, and you know who fucking hires convicts? NO ONE! So while you were going off getting your second chance and going to school and starting your perfect new life, I was fucking rotting away in a jail cell and then working a shitty janitorial job that didn't pay shit. So yeah, I started dealing, because what other choice did I have? And yeah, I fucked up! I shouldn't have gotten into the merch and I shouldn't have become a fucking addict, but that's what I am okay? And I need your fucking help, so you are gonna stop being such an asshole and you're gonna take me upstairs to your fancy little New York apartment because you fucking owe me, Clint! You _owe_ me!" He punctuated that sentence by poking Clint very hard in the center of his chest.

Clint was torn. Part of him was screaming to just let it go, that he didn't owe Barney a damn thing, that he should just go inside, lock his doors, and continue on with his life. But the other, much bigger, part of him was already clinging to the guilt. He had been given a second chance that Barney hadn't. He'd been given the gift of a clean record, and time to figure out what he was going to do with himself, and the ability to actually start aiming for those goals once he figured out what they were.

Barney had been given five years in prison coupled with a "troubled white-trash child" background. Looking at them, people would say that Clint had risen above his circumstances and Barney had succumbed to them. And they would probably be right, but it was never the whole story. Clint had only gotten off free because of his age and some luck. He easily could have been in Barney's position, or worse, had things gone differently. It wasn't his fault that Barney was in this situation, but that didn't mean he could turn his back on his brother, especially knowing that everyone else already had.

"Yeah, okay," Clint sighed. "Come on up. But I'm fucking serious, Barney, don't be doing that shit in my home. You wanna get fucked up, do it somewhere else. I'm not gonna deal with that bullshit, you got it?"

"Yeah, of course," Barney said, suddenly much more amiable. "You're the boss, man."

Clint couldn't force down the feeling that he was doing something extremely stupid the entire way up four flights of stairs, but he was able to kind of ignore it. He really hoped that he wouldn't regret taking a chance on Barney, and that his brother would be gone in a few days. Clint tossed his keys on the kitchen counter as soon as they were through the door, flipping on the lights and letting Barney inside. Barney surveyed the place carefully, in the same way Clint had seen him do a hundred times on jobs in their youth. It made him feel kind of sick.

"This is the kitchen, that's the living room," Clint explained, pointing out the obvious. He gestured to the hallway. "Second door on the left is the bathroom, first door on the right is my bedroom. You'll be sleeping on the couch."

"Fair enough," Barney drawled, inspecting the shelf of DVDs that mostly belonged to Bucky. "What are those other two doors?"

"My roommates' bedrooms," Clint said shortly. "They're not here right now."

Barney hummed thoughtfully. "Can I use your shower?"

"Yeah," Clint said, glad that he would have a few minutes alone to think. "The purple towel in the cupboard is mine, you can use that."

Barney laughed. "Ah, man, I forgot how much you liked purple. Always thought that was kinda queer."

"Yeah," Clint responded through clenched teeth. "I am kinda queer. That a problem?"

Barney looked legitimately surprised for a moment, and then he shrugged. "Whatever man, fuck whoever you want. I don't care."

"Thanks so much for your approval," Clint responded sarcastically. "Go take a shower, you smell." He almost breathed a sigh of relief when Barney adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder and headed down the hall. Clint watched him to make sure that he went into the bathroom, and then took a minute to pray that Barney wouldn't use his time in the bathroom to get high. He was already seriously regretting the guilt that had practically forced him to open up his home to his brother, and wondering how the hell he was supposed to go to work while worrying about whether or not Barney was stealing and selling everything in his apartment for drug money.

He dropped down onto the couch and rested his head in his hands, wondering if it was too late to pretend that he had no idea who Barney was. He heard the shower turn on, and figured that, yeah, it probably was. Maybe next time he would have better reflexes.

* * *

When Clint's alarm went off at eight, he had to resist the urge to turn it off and go right back to sleep. Sleep had not come easily due to the worry that kept nagging at him. He kept waking up in the middle of the night worried that Barney might have taken anything of value that he could find and hit the road. He only managed to fall back asleep after Barney's earth-shaking snores assured him that his brother was still fast asleep on the couch. That had happened at least ten times, and Clint almost felt like he shouldn't have even bothered trying to sleep at all.

He rolled out of bed, cussing when his feet hit the cold floor, and grabbed a clean pair of boxers out of his drawer. A shower would probably help wake him up. Clint hesitated when he reached his bedroom, still afraid that he would open it and find everything gone. If that was the case, hiding in his room wouldn't change anything, so he pushed open the door, eyes immediately going towards the living room. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw that the TV was still where it always was. He was less relieved to see Barney still conked out on the couch, but at least he could be assured that Barney hadn't stolen something smaller and skipped town.

The sound of snoring was even louder out here, and Clint wondered if he snored that loudly as well. He approached Barney quietly and was surprised to find that he looked just as torn up while he was sleeping as he did while he was awake. Books always suggested that people looked younger and more peaceful in their sleep, but Barney's brow was furrowed like he was eternally concerned about something, and the bags under his eyes and developing wrinkles made him look years older than twenty-nine. He'd led a hard life. They both had, of course, but Clint could admit that, of the two of them, Barney's had been harder. What would Clint look like, if he hadn't been given a second chance? Where would he be if he had gone to prison right alongside Barney? He liked to think that, in any universe, he would have gotten his head out of his ass and figured out a way to live on the straight and narrow, but he honestly wasn't really sure he would have. He was self-aware enough to know that he generally needed other people to prevent him from making bad decisions.

Clint reached out and took a hold of Barney's nose, squeezing it shut. Perhaps it was childish and little vindictive, but Barney snapping awake with an awkward snort and a gasp was really satisfying.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Barney complained, rubbing at his nose and scowling.

"I've got to be at work by nine," Clint said.

"So what?" Barney bitched. "Why do I have to be awake?"

"Because I'm not leaving you alone here all day," Clint told him shortly. "I don't care what you do, but you're not doing it here. Now get up, we're leaving in half an hour."

"Jesus Christ, Clint, don't you trust me?" Barney asked, sitting up and scrubbing his hands through his hair.

"No," Clint called over his shoulder on the way to the bathroom. He grimaced as he at the feeling of cold water on his toes as soon as he stepped through the bathroom door. Barney had left the towel he'd used in a heap on the floor and it was still pretty wet. Clint scowled at it and went to look for his other towel before he remembered that it was in the laundry hamper in his bedroom. Sighing heavily, he scooped the wet towel off the floor and hung it on the rack and then went to search the cupboards for another one. He found a bright blue one that he was pretty sure belonged to Steve, who wouldn't mind if Clint used his towel as long as he washed it. He took the world's fastest shower, wishing all the while that he could stay under the hot spray of water and ignore the whole world.

He could hear the sizzle of something being fried when he emerged from the bathroom, and by the time he'd gotten dressed and slapped some gel in his hair, he could smell bacon. He was actually a little bit surprised that Barney pushed a plate laden with bacon, eggs, and two pieces of toast at him when he entered the kitchen. He'd expected Barney to only cook enough for one as punishment for waking him up.

"Thanks," Clint said awkwardly, suddenly feeling kind of bad for how he'd been treating his brother.

"You're welcome," Barney said shortly. "Should have just cooked for myself and left you to starve for the lack of trust."

"Dude, it's my food," Clint grumbled, taking a bite of toast. It was done perfectly, crunchy around the edges and just a little soft in the middle, covered in the exact right amount of butter. It brought him back to when they were both very young, before their parents had died. When both of their parents were drunk (which happened more and more often the older that they got) often times they forgot to make dinner. Those nights, Barney would use the extent of his culinary knowledge to make them toast for dinner, exactly the same way as the toast Clint was eating now. Some nights they'd have dry cereal too, when it was available, and the really special nights were when they actually had milk to put in it. Clint had plenty of memories of sharing a bowl of slightly stale cereal with a bit of milk in it. Barney had always let him drink the last of the milk from the bowl when the cereal was all gone.

Barney sat down opposite him, glowering at his plate and stabbing viciously at it his eggs with his fork. Clint wanted to apologize, if only because he was feeling sentimental at the way Barney used to take care of him when they were kids, but he couldn't think of a way to do it that wasn't awkward. He loved Barney, of course he did; Barney was his brother and they'd been through a lot of shit together. But he couldn't tell him that without making things awkward, or having Barney harass him about his lack of trust. As much as Clint did love Barney, he absolutely did not trust him, and he really didn't want to fight about it. Instead, he just sat quietly and ate his breakfast.

Against his better judgment, he offered to let Barney come along with him to work, but Barney had just scowled at him and asked what time Clint would be home so he would know when he could come back to the apartment. Honestly, Clint was pretty relieved. He didn't want Barney to meet Phil and pick up on how Clint felt for him. Because if there was anything Barney was really good at, it was being just perceptive enough to be extremely irritating. If Barney found out about how Clint felt for Phil, there would be absolutely no way he would be able to keep him quiet about it, and honestly Clint received enough abuse from Natasha without having to put up with it from his brother too.

When he got to Uncommon Grounds ten minutes before nine, Phil practically had his head stuck in the display case, arranging a pile of biscotti. He straightened up quickly when he heard the bell jingle, his customer face on, but relaxed when he saw Clint coming through the door.

"Jeez, for a second I thought the second morning rush was starting early," Phil said, leaning down to push one of the biscotti a half inch to the right before nodding like he was satisfied and sliding the case shut.

"Nope, just me," Clint answered, even though that was obvious. He hung his coat up on the hook next to the door, looping his scarf over the top of that. The scarf was striped purple and black, and it was extremely lopsided when it was laid it out flat and looked at it, because it had been Natasha's first attempt at crocheting. Despite how wonky it looked though, it wasn't really noticeable, and even if it had been he would have worn it anyway. He'd been pretty touched that the first thing Natasha made had been for him. She'd gotten much better since then and had even made him a new, very straight and symmetrical scarf, but he was still pretty fond of the original and tended to wear it more often than not. It was a little messed up, but it still managed to work like it was supposed to, and Clint felt a kinship with that.

"Okay, so there are three rushes here, generally," Phil started explaining while he set up take out cups in three equally sized stacks "There's the early morning rush, from six to eight, the second morning rush from nine to ten thirty, and there's the about a half hour lull until the lunch rush starts at eleven and lasts till two."

"So pretty much the rush lasts from six until two," Clint said.

Phil smiled at him, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. "Yeah, technically I guess. But that hour break between early morning and late morning is crucial. Gives us time to restock and clean up. And the second break is important because it gives us time to down some espresso in time for the third rush," Phil explained.

Clint glanced up at the clock, noting that it was just a few minutes until nine, and wondering how he was supposed to manage it after one day of training. Phil seemed to notice his nerves and smiled reassuringly.

"Obviously you're not ready to be making the coffee by yourself during a rush," he said. "So you're going to be taking orders and running the cash register. You do know how to run a cash register, right?"

"Yeah," Clint assured him quickly.

"Good. Okay, I had these made up when Darcy first started working here, and they just kind of stuck." He indicated a notepad that had a typed list of menu with little boxes next to each item. At the bottom there was a row that listed extra, light, add, and none, and under that all the options of syrup, plus things like whipped cream and types of milk.

"It's really simple," Phil said. "If they order something straight from the menu, just check that and hand it off to the side," he said, patting the countertop. "If they want something specific that's not on the menu or want something added or taken out, just tick the right boxes. It's much quicker than writing it all down and much easier than trying to remember it. Just remember to write their names at the top."

Clint nodded, wondering how people could want so much stuff in their coffee. He tended to drink his right out of the pot when no one was around to yell at him for it.

"I also have a cheat sheet for you," Phil added, handing him a laminated sheet of paper with all the price listings on it. Clint suddenly felt so much less overwhelmed at the sight of it. He might have kissed the thing, if he thought that Phil wouldn't think he was weird for it. The bell above the door jingled and a group of people trudged inside, looking tired and grumpy and covered in snow.

"Hope you're ready," Phil said quietly, and Clint put on his best customer service smile and grabbed a pen. Ready or not, it was time to get down to work.

* * *

The first twenty minutes was hell, but once Clint started to remember the general placement of things on the list and the prices of certain drinks that got ordered a lot, it went much better. By the time the two o' clock rush started, he and Phil had started working in a comfortable rhythm and the tip jar on the counter was half full. Darcy came in at three, and she switched out with Phil so that he could start focusing on restocking their dwindling supply of baked goods. He worked well with Darcy, but not quite as well as he had with Phil. Though Darcy was fun and chatty and they spent a lot of time snarking with each other, they didn't seem to move around each other like he and Phil had. With Phil, it had seemed almost instinctual. Clint could step over to get something out of the case without even looking to see if Phil was there, because somehow he just knew that he wasn't. He and Darcy had bumped into each other a few times, but nothing big. Darcy hadn't spilled any hot coffee on him, at any rate.

By the time his shift was over at four, Clint was exhausted. He'd had much worse as a waiter, but part of him thought that maybe it was worse to basically stand in one place for seven hours instead of the constant moving that being a server required. It had started to snow again, big fluffy flakes that coated the street and clung to everything it touched. Even as people and cars trudged through it, the marks left behind filled right back up. Through the colorful lights that Phil had strung around the windows, it looked like something off of a Christmas card.

It was beautiful, but Clint was loath to leave and walk through all that cold wetness. He'd worn his scarf, obviously, and he had a hat and gloves tucked into his coat pocket, but he'd also opted to wear his purple Chucks that day instead of the sturdy, waterproof boots he'd bought in the middle of his first winter in New York. They were lying scattered under his bed at home, and Clint thought of them longingly for a minute. And then, he thought of Barney, who had shown up on his doorstep with nothing but a thin hoodie and a backpack, who he had unceremoniously kicked out of his apartment for the day because he didn't trust him enough to leave him alone. He hoped that Barney had had enough sense to go to a library or something to get out of the cold.

"Hey, I'm gonna head out," Clint said, grabbing his scarf and looping it around his neck.

"Don't you want to wait around to split up the tips?" Darcy asked. "It'll just be between you and Phil since I only got here an hour ago."

The large jar full of singles and change was a rather tempting sight, and anywhere else, Clint would have stayed and watched like a hawk to make sure that he got his fair share. But not here. He trusted Phil to do right by him.

"No, I'll just get them tomorrow," Clint said, grabbing the black beanie with a single purple stripe around the bottom edge (another homemade Natasha special) and pulling it down low over the tops of his ears.

"Well, you've still got to sign out," Darcy pointed out. "So if you're trying to sneak out without Phil seeing, good luck with that."

Clint stopped short at that and turned to frown at her. "Why would I be trying to sneak out without seeing Phil?" he asked.

"I don't know," Darcy shrugged. "In case he asks you to stay later?"

Clint looked around the shop, empty at the moment except for a pair of giggly teenage girls in one corner and a guy who had been sitting there for five hours "writing his novel", except that every time he thought no one was looking he switched over to scroll through tumblr.

"I'm really not that concerned about it," Clint said. "But I did forget about signing out. And signing in, to be honest. So I'll go do that. And then I'm going home."

"Got a hot date?" she asked as he scooted around the counter to head into the back where Phil kept their time sheets in a thin white binder.

"Ha!" Clint laughed. "Yeah, right. No, but I do have to meet someone, and I don't think he'll be happy with me if I leave him hanging." He left his explanation at that. The kitchen smelled like baking chocolate and happiness, and Clint suddenly found himself breathing more deeply than was necessary. Phil was sitting in his makeshift office, which was really just a desk and a desktop computer shoved into the corner and closed off from the kitchen by one of the big shelving units.

"Hey, you heading out?" Phil asked. Clint scooted around his chair to grab the binder, flipping open to the most recent page and scrawling down the time he'd gotten in and the current time.

"Yeah," Clint said, sticking the binder back in it's place. "I've got to meet someone pretty soon, so I can't really hang around. Do you mind setting my part of the tips aside and I'll pick them up tomorrow?"

"Not a problem," Phil said easily. "You did really great today, Clint. Thanks a lot."

"Nah, man, I should thank you. You kinda saved me with this job," Clint said, and he hoped that Phil couldn't see the blush that was starting to build up on his cheeks.

"Well, I haven't had someone to help me with the morning rushes in a long time. I should have stopped being so stubborn and controlling a long time ago," he laughed self-deprecatingly. "Anyway, you're helping me out just as much as I'm helping you, so I guess we both just accept that and move on. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Yeah," Clint agreed. "See you."

When he came back out to the front, Darcy was standing on the other side of the counter, looking down at a purple pastry box, tied closed with a white ribbon. His heart leapt at the sight of it, but he tried not to jump to any conclusions.

"What's that?" he asked instead.

"Why don't you tell me?" Darcy asked with a raised eyebrow. "It's for you." Sure enough, there was a white card tucked under the ribbon with his name scrawled across it. He pulled it out and flipped it open, smiling at the message.

_"I can't even tell you how hard it was to come up with an idea for this day. It's just getting harder as time goes on, too. Who would ever give their true love ten leaping men for Christmas? I hope your day has been a good one."_

"Wow, look at that smitten smile!" Darcy teased, leaning over the counter to try and look at the card. "Have you got a secret admirer, Clint?"

Clint blushed, but nodded. "Uh. yeah, actually, I think I do. He's been sending me gifts based on the Twelve Days of Christmas."

"Oh my god! That's so cute!" Darcy exclaimed. "Open it, open it I want to see!"

Clint quickly acquiesced, because he also wanted to see. The ribbon came untied easily, and Clint lifted the lid to find six large cupcakes nestled inside. Each cupcake had a little figurine of a goose on top. The whole box smelled like spices. Another piece of cardstock was taped to the inside of the box.

_"Eggnog cupcakes with nutmeg frosting. The geese are made of sugar, and will last for as long as you want to keep them."_

"Oh my god, that is the cutest!" Darcy squealed, reaching out to stroke one of the geese with the tip of her finger. "Whoever this guy is, he's a total keeper."

"Did you see him?" Clint asked. "This box was delivered at some point while I was in the back, so you must have seen him come in?"

Darcy shook her head, looking regretful. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't!" she said. "I was out collecting mugs when someone came in and I said I'd be there in a second, but they only stayed long enough to drop off the box and leave again, I guess. Because I turned around and no one was there, but this box had appeared."

Clint felt a swell of disappointment, but he brushed it aside as best he could. It was the sixth day, which meant he was halfway through. He'd find out who the gifter was soon enough. He could wait a few more days.

"Ah, okay," he sighed. "I'm gonna go home, then." He slipped into his jacket and gloves before grabbing his box and heading out the door. The wind bit into him immediately. It felt like it was shooting straight through his bones.

By the time he got home, snow had soaked through his shoes and his toes had gone numb. Maybe tomorrow he would be smart enough to remember his boots. Barney wasn't lurking around when he got there, so he just headed upstairs. Barney was perfectly capable of using the intercom to ask Clint to buzz him up when he did finally get there.

The first place he headed after letting himself inside was the shower. He turned the heat up as high as he could stand it, hissing at the way it made his frozen toes burn. It definitely did the job of warming him up though. He dressed in warm sweatpants and an NYU hoodie when he got out, slipping his feet into a pair of thick, warm socks as well. The windows were fogged over from the cold, and despite the warmth he was now shrouded in, Clint could still feel it in his bones when he looked at them.

He was trying to decide if he wanted to watch TV or make himself something to eat when someone started slamming on the door. He looked at it nervously, glad that he'd remembered to slide the locks home before going to the shower. He approached the door quietly and peeked through the view hole to see the distorted image of an angry looking bald guy with a goatee and a smaller guy with a scowl that seemed permanently stuck on his face. They were both wearing maroon tracksuits with gold stripes up the sides.

"What can I do for you?" he called through the door.

"Looking for Barney Barton, bro! You seen him?" the man called. His accent sounded vaguely Russian, and Clint's heart almost stopped. Not only had Barney gotten involved with the mafia, but with the _Russian_ mafia? _Really?_ They were both going to get killed.

"I don't know any Barneys," Clint lied.

"I know you're lying, bro!" the guy yelled back. "The door buzzer says Barton! You see him, you tell him the boss wants his money!"

"You've got the wrong Barton!" Clint called back. "Don't come back here or I'll call the cops!" He was lying, of course. There was no way he'd get the cops involved and risk getting Barney sent back to jail.

"We'll be back, bro! And you should wise up and tell us where he is. Wouldn't want nothin' bad to happen!" He raised his fist and slammed it hard against the door before turning to leave, beckoning for the other guy to follow him. Clint watched them until they were out of sight of the peep hole, and then he checked the locks and attached the chain lock at the top of the door. That was the most obvious sign of his nerves. They never locked the chain up, but seeing it there made Clint feel a bit better.

They would probably stake out the front of his building, waiting to see if Barney came by. He wished that he had a way to contact Barney and tell him not to come back tonight, or to watch his back, or anything really. Honestly he just wanted to make sure that Barney was okay. If Barney had a cell phone, he hadn't given Clint the number, and short of a bat signal, Clint had no idea how to get a hold of him. He didn't know where Barney had planned on going or when he was going to be back, so he only had two options. He could sit around and worry, or he could try to take his mind off of it and wait for Barney to get back.

He decided on option two. The TV was as good a distraction as anything, so Clint turned it on and flipped to the first movie he found, which turned out to be the Santa Clause. The purple box of cupcakes sat enticingly on the counter, and Clint couldn't resist going to fetch it. He was kind of shaken by how fast those mafia guys had figured out where Barney was, and he thought he deserved a cupcake after being threatened by tracksuit Draculas.

He tried to focus on the movie and the delectable taste of eggnog filling his mouth, but it was a bit hard. His mind kept drifting to Barney, wondering if he was okay, or if he'd somehow frozen to death or been picked up by the cops. Surely, if that tracksuit mafia ambushed him outside, Clint would hear a racket?

He was halfway to deciding to get dressed and head back out, on some insane journey to find one guy in a city of eight million, when he heard a tapping sound coming from the hallway. He glanced at the door, to reassure himself that the chain was still latched, and then muted the TV so he could hear better. Surely enough, there was some more tapping, a little louder. He got up and followed the noise, frowning when he realized that it was coming from his bedroom.

He opened the door and flipped on the light, looking around for the source of the noise. It got louder then, and the window shook with the force of whoever was on the other side, beating at it. He approached the window cautiously, wiping at condensation that had built over it, almost jumping out of his skin when he saw a face looking back at him. After a few seconds, he realized that the person was Barney, who had apparently climbed up the fire escape. Clint released the safety latch on the window bars and then unlocked the window itself, pushing it up quickly.

"What the hell, man?" he demanded, grabbing Barney around the elbow and practically pulling him inside. His skin was cold to the touch, and his lips were blue, but he looked to be in one piece.

"Saw the g-guys who are after m-me," Barney explained, his teeth chattering. "C-came out the f-front d-door. D-decided fire escape was b-better."

"Yeah, maybe if you're trying to get yourself killed and give me a heart attack," Clint grumbled, wrestling Barney out of his wet hoodie.

"Go take a hot shower before you die of hypothermia," Clint instructed. Barney was apparently too cold for a smart-ass comment, as he just followed Clint's instructions and headed for the bathroom. Clint sighed as soon as he was out of sight. He wasn't sure how much his frazzled nerves could take.

He closed and locked the window again, making sure the safety bars were latched properly. The last thing he needed was someone else climbing through his window in the dark. He heard the shower turn on, and decided he should probably go search through the cupboards for something hot for Barney to eat. Barney could be absolutely miserable when he was sick, and Clint really wanted nothing to do with it, so it was better to try and combat it before it set in. He found a few cans of Campbell's chicken noodle in the cupboard and decided that it would have to do.

He poured all four of them into a saucepan, added water until it looked about right, and set it on the stove to boil. It certainly wasn't gourmet, but it would have to be good enough. Clint wasn't a chef, and most of his meals came straight out of a box. Add water, add little sauce packet, and voila: dinner. When he was feeling really ambitious, he sometimes baked a chicken breast or two in the oven.

The hot water never lasted all that long, so Clint wasn't surprised when Barney was out of the shower in less than ten minutes. He was a little surprised that Barney had helped himself to Clint's clothes, but he chose not to comment on it. He did comment on the fact that his blanket was draped over Barney's shoulders like a cloak.

"Can you not drag my blanket all over the floor?" he said, shooting his brother a scowl.

"Bitch bitch bitch," Barney responded, but he hiked up the ends of the blanket off the ground. He settled down at the kitchen table, like he expected Clint to serve him, and because Clint was an _awesome_ brother, he did. He served the soup in mugs, because he liked to drink all the broth after the noodles and chicken were gone, and it was much easier to do from a mug than a bowl.

Barney seemed to agree, because the first thing he did was take a long drink of the steaming broth and sigh in satisfaction. Clint joined him after a minute, sipping at his soup slowly. He'd just eaten a huge cupcake with thick frosting, so he wasn't feeling particularly hungry.

"So what are you going to do?" Clint asked finally. "Clearly they found you already, so you're not safe here."

"Well, I don't think they know I'm here," Barney answered, his fingers tapping nervously at the porcelain of his mug. "So I'm still kinda safe, as long as I keep my head down. If I just stay here and don't go out, they've gotta give up eventually, right?"

"I don't know about that," Clint offered. "I mean they literally showed up twenty-four hours after you did. That can't be a coincidence, right?"

"I dunno, man," Barney sighed, scrubbing a hand through his wet hair. "I mean, you're my brother, my only living family. I'm sure they have connections that could have gotten that information pretty easily, and they just assumed that this was the first place I'd come."

"Well," Clint said, waving his hand around at the apartment, "they weren't wrong."

"No, they weren't," Barney agreed. "But I did some stuff today, got some things set up, and I'll be able to leave in a week or so. It'll be all incognito. I just need to hang around until my guy comes through."

Clint decided that he really didn't want to know what Barney had been doing all day. It was probably something illegal or illicit, and the less Clint knew about it the better. As it was, he was already on edge about the mafia guys parked outside his apartment building and Barney's, well, everything, so he really didn't need anymore specifics to occupy his brain.

"Okay," Clint sighed. "I guess I can't really see any other alternative. Just, really, Barn, keep your head down. Like, way down. I do not need those guys knocking at my door again, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Barney waved him off. "You got it. In a few days this will all be sorted out, I promise. You won't even have to worry about it."

Somehow, Clint thought it wasn't that simple. These guys knew where he lived, they knew he was Barney's brother, and when they couldn't find him, the chances were good that they'd come after Clint, and it wouldn't just be him. He had roommates and people he cared about, and Barney was putting all of them in a potentially dangerous situation. He wished he could get pissed off about it. He wished he could callously dismiss his family ties to a man he hadn't seen in eight years, but Clint wasn't wired that way, he knew. He was loyal to a fault, as Natasha often reminded him, and he just couldn't sell out his only family to people who would kill him without a thought.

"Okay, Barney," he said. "I'm going to let you hole up in here, but I swear to god if you fuck me over I will sell you right the fuck out, okay?" It was a lie, but he hoped that Barney wouldn't call him on it. He needed to have some sort of threat going, just to extend the smallest bit of protection that he could find. After all, it wasn't just his apartment, and he was trusting Barney with his friend's things as well as his own.

Natasha was extremely particular about the people she let into her space, and Clint was positive that she would not have been okay with Barney staying on their couch, had she been home. Since she wasn't, he wasn't going to worry about her feelings on the matter too much, but if Barney decided to be an asshole and take anything he could find of value, he was sure that simple locks on his friends' bedroom doors wouldn't keep his brother out for long. He knew Natasha had plenty of expensive jewelry, and he couldn't imagine trying to explain to her that he'd extended trust to his brother and gotten her things stolen as repayment.

Natasha wouldn't blame him, he knew, at least not for very long, but he would still feel guilty about it for the rest of the his life. He hoped that he would be rewarded for his good deed and that Barney would behave himself. It went against his better judgment to trust Barney, but he really didn't have any other choice, so in the end he would have to live with the consequences of his decision.

He sincerely hoped he didn't come to regret it.

* * *

The second morning rush had passed, and Clint was working at double speed trying to get the everything cleaned up and ready for the next rush that would start in twenty minutes. He was coming to understand that the rushes were like clockwork. Only a few people came in during the half hour pause, so that was the best time to clean up the workstation, restock anything that needed to be restocked, and try to gobble down something to eat or drink before the next rush started. Phil had restocked the display case and gone back to stick another batch of scones in the oven while Clint cleaned off the counter and went out to pick up the plethora of mugs. Yesterday, they had split up the manual labor and the easier tasks between them, but today Phil was kind of stiff in his movements, and Clint had pressured him into the easier tasks, simply by getting to the more manual ones first. Just as Clint finished picking up all the mugs, Phil came back to the front, so Clint headed to the back to stick the mugs in the dishwasher. When Clint came back up front, he found that Phil had then used their quick work as an excuse to start making them both some sandwiches. Clint wasn't going to complain.

"I'm glad you came to me," Phil spoke up after a few minutes of silence.

"Huh?" Clint asked, looking away from the cheat sheet of different kinds of drinks he'd been testing himself on. Clint was pretty simple when it came to coffee. He wanted it hot and strong and in large quantities. He obviously had heard of other coffee drinks, and had even tried a few before, but he was actually kind of terrible at differentiating between them. He still wasn't quite sure what the difference between a cappuccino and latte was. It could be kind of problematic, what with the fact that he worked in a coffee shop.

"When you needed a job, I'm glad that you came to me. I like having you here during the day. I like to think that we're friends…"

"Oh yeah, definitely," Clint said quickly, thankful for the assurance of Phil's thoughts on their relationship. He'd always liked to think of Phil as his friend too, but he'd never wanted to be too presumptuous.

"Anyway, I'm glad you came to me, because I like having you around, and honestly, I needed the help during the day. And I'm glad that you trusted in me enough to ask me in the first place. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm glad you trusted me for this, and I hope you know that you can continue to do so. If you ever really need something, I hope you'll tell me so that I can do my best to help you out."

Clint froze in place for a minute, wondering if Phil could possibly know about Barney. And if he did, _how_ could he know? Phil was quiet, like he was waiting for Clint to say something. The only sounds came from the sizzling grill, and the silence stretched on way too long.

"I know that you're pretty independent," Phil said. "I know that you like to do things on your own, believe me, I do. I've known you long enough for that. But there are some things you can't do on your own, Clint. I just want you to know that I'll do everything I can to help you, if you need it, but you have to let me know that you need help before I can. Okay?" Phil opened the panini press, and when he reached up to grab plates, Clint saw how stiff his back was, and it clicked.

"What did they do to you?" he demanded, reaching up to grab the plates so that Phil wouldn't strain himself.

"What did who…?"

"You're gonna give me a talk about trust and then try to pull that?" Clint demanded, setting the plates down so that he could cross his arms defensively over his chest. "I noticed you were hurting earlier, and now you're having a talk with me about helping me out of potential trouble. I'm not stupid, Phil."

"I know you're not stupid, Clint," Phil said immediately. "And I didn't mean to infer that I thought you were. I just didn't want you to worry or feel guilty, and I didn't want to pressure you into telling me what's going on if you didn't want to." He looked nervous and regretful, and Clint almost felt bad for being so defensive. Phil was a good man, Clint knew that that, and he had known that for a long time. All he wanted to do was help out, and clearly he knew something was wrong.

"Well, we're here now," Clint sighed. "And I'm not really angry with you about asking. I'm just worried, Phil. Did the tracksuit Draculas do something to you?"

Phil's lips quirked at Clint's name for them, but the smile quickly vanished from his face again. "They didn't really do anything," he said. "They came in right after close last night, right before I locked up the doors and they said they were looking for Barton. I told them you'd already left and that I didn't know where you'd gone. Well, they didn't like that. The big one grabbed me and shoved me back against the counter and did the whole threatening spiel and then told me to tell you that 'the boss wants his money'. And then the little one suggested they beat the shit out of me to leave a message, so that's when I grabbed my gun. They left pretty fast after that." Phil looked satisfied with himself at that, and Clint had to laugh.

"Damn, Phil, you keep a gun in the store?" Clint demanded, looking around to see if he could spot where Phil kept it.

"Not quite," Phil said dryly. He turned his back to Clint and lifted up his shirt, revealing a gun in a holster at the small of his back. It was partly tucked into the top of his jeans, but looked pretty easy to grab at a moment's notice.

"Holy shit!" Clint exclaimed, wondering if Phil always had that gun on him. Part of him was kind of amazed by the fact that Phil showed him exactly where he kept his gun. Seemed kind of a trusting thing to do, which made Clint want to preen a bit. "Do you have a license for that?"

"Of course I do," Phil snorted. "One for concealed carry and one to have it in the store. I'm not crazy."

"But why do you even have it? Phil Coulson, are you a gun nut?"

"I'm not a gun nut," Phil said, rolling his eyes, but his smile was fond. "I just prefer to have a gun, for safety. This city can be dangerous. And after last night I'm really glad that I do have it. Which is what we were talking about, by the way. I'm not going to let you distract me."

Clint honestly hadn't been trying to distract Phil. He'd just been awestruck that this man who was so kind and open always had a gun on him. Phil crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter, grimacing as it put pressure on the bruises he must have gained from being shoved into the very same counter the night before. Clint wanted to look him over and make sure he was okay. He wanted to kiss those bruises and make them better, and he really wanted to hunt down those tracksuit assholes and beat the shit out of all of them. But he couldn't do any of that, so he just focused on Phil.

"Clint, are you in trouble?" he asked. "Who do you owe money to? And why?"

Clint sighed heavily, but he knew he couldn't avoid answering. Phil probably thought he was some crazy criminal caught up in over his head. That wasn't to say he'd never been a crazy criminal, or that he wasn't in over his head, but he was pretty sure what Phil was thinking was much worse than his current situation.

"They weren't looking for me," he said. "They were looking for my brother. As it turns out he's gotten himself into some trouble and he needed a place to hide, so he came to me, and I couldn't just turn him away. He's my brother." Phil nodded, to show he understood or to encourage him to continue, Clint didn't know. "The thing is, they found him pretty damn fast. They came to my apartment last night and threatened me too, but I didn't open the door for them so they didn't get the chance to manhandle me. And god, I am so sorry about that."

"It's okay," Phil assured him. "I'm all right, and now they know I'm not a pushover, so maybe they'll leave me be. But Clint, I'm worried about you. They know where you live, they know where you work. Do you really think they're just going to leave you alone when they can't find your brother?"

"I don't know," Clint sighed, looking down at his toes. "But I can't just give him up, Phil."

"Can you call the cops?" Phil asked, and Clint flinched.

"Not really. Barney can't go back to jail. I don't know what it would do to him, but I seriously doubt it would be anything good. Don't worry about it, Phil. I'll take care of it, okay? I'm sorry you got dragged into this."

"It's okay," Phil said, handing over the panini he'd been holding hostage until Clint talked. "I can't promise I'm not going to worry, though. It sounds like you're in something very serious. And I can't promise I won't be involved, because it seems like I'm already involved. Are you sure you shouldn't call the cops?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Clint insisted, hoping that his face showed how serious he was. "There's some shit in my past, Phil, shit that I had thought I managed to leave behind. Without getting into it, I'll just say that I owe Barney enough not to all the cops on him, okay?"

"Okay," Phil agreed. "I'll trust your judgment for now, Clint. Just please be careful. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Thank you," Clint said sincerely. "Really Phil, thanks."

"You're welcome," Phil told him, sending him a small smile. "Although I have to admit that I'm curious about what you could possibly have done in the past to owe your brother a hideout from the what did you call them? The tracksuit Draculas."

"Yeah, well," Clint said, turning towards the cash register as the door opened and a few customers trickled in. "Maybe I'll tell you about my illicit childhood one day. But for now I think we have a job to do."


	3. Chapter 3

The shop had never really stopped being busy after the last rush started, and even when Darcy showed up things were pretty hectic, so Clint had stayed until 5:15, as late as he possibly could without making himself late for whatever it was that had been arranged for his seventh gift. Part of him hoped that it was a meeting with the guy who was giving the gifts, but the logical part of him really doubted it. Why would he go to so much trouble to remain a secret only to give himself up halfway through? It didn't make any sense, and he knew that. But still, he couldn't help but hope.

He was a little confused when the GPS on his phone led him to a small orphanage in Brooklyn that had definitely seen better days. There was a cracked wooden sign in the small patch of grass between the front porch and the sidewalk that boasted "Dalton Home for Little Wanderers" in faded red paint, over a picture of two little boys tossing a ball back and forth. The building had clearly once been a private home, and clearly a rather expensive one as well. It was a large Victorian looking house that looked very odd stuck between the apartment block on one side and the small bodega on the other. It was old and had probably been donated by a well-to-do family who had traded up for something better. The porch sagged a bit and it leaned ever so slightly to the left. Half the shutters were missing and the whole building could use a fresh coat of paint, but Clint knew how easily orphanages could fall into disrepair, and how difficult it could be to get the funds to fix things back up. But despite its appearance, the building was clearly still going strong, otherwise the state wouldn't have allowed it to stay open.

He looked at the note he'd written the address down on again, double checking to make sure that he was at the right place. It was possible that he'd written it down wrong, but he had nothing else to go on, so he climbed up the porch steps and knocked on the door, noting that the doorbell had been covered with a "broken" sign. It was a long minute before someone finally came to answer the door, long enough that Clint had just raised his fist to knock again when the door swung open.

The woman who answered it was in her fifties, short and plump with a pleasant looking smile and a round face framed by gray-streaked mousy brown hair. She was wearing a red sweater with Rudolph on the front. The nose was big and red and protruded out from the front of her sweater. Clint was willing to bet that she had knitted it herself.

"Hi, are you Clint?" she asked cheerfully.

"Uh, yeah…" Clint said, kind of confused as to what he was doing here.

"I'm Karen Cook, the director of the Dalton Home! Everything is ready, we've just been waiting on you!"

"Oh...I'm sorry," Clint apologized, aware that standing outside staring at the building had probably made him late.

"That's quite all right, dear," she assured him. "God knows the boys could use a lesson in patience. Come in, come in, we're letting all the warm air out. This old house is so hard to keep warm what with all the rooms that don't have insulation and the rickety old windows. You know how old houses can be!"

Clint nodded and stepped inside, even though he didn't really have a clue how old houses could be. Inside it was warm and inviting, particularly for an orphanage. Clint's own memories of the Children's Home in Waverly weren't quite so comforting. He remembered that it was often cold, and there were too many other kids, and the nuns had done their best, but they had been severe and strict and downright disconcerting to Clint when he was young.

Sometimes he could still remember the sting on the back of his knuckles from the rulers, which he was pretty sure they weren't technically allowed to do anymore. But Clint had been born into a family where he got beat on a nightly basis simply for drawing attention to himself, and getting a smack on the knuckles from a ruler when he misbehaved had seemed like a pretty good deal in comparison. Later, when the beatings had started up again with Trick, Clint had just assumed that nuns were nice because God wanted them to be. He hadn't even realized most people didn't hit kids until he was fifteen.

This place was quite the opposite of everything he had come to imagine from an orphanage. It wasn't messy, but it definitely had a lived in feel, like the sort of place that had to be tidied up every evening because the kids who lived there were actually encouraged to play and just be kids. There were Christmas lights wound around the banister of the stairway, blinking happily in the dim light of the hallway. He could see a large Christmas tree in the foyer to the right of the hall. It was decorated with popcorn strings and hand-made ornaments. The topper was a tinfoil star covered in glitter and streaming tinsel from each point. It looked like an effort of joy and love, and it lit up the room even though there weren't any presents under it. Clint knew that a few days before Christmas, some charity would donate a gift for each kid, something cheap and generic that would break within a few weeks. Still, he remembered how awesome it had felt to get something brand new that was just for him for the first time ever, so he couldn't even be disdainful of how impersonal that method of gift giving tended to be.

He thought he wouldn't have minded living in the orphanage so much, if he and Barney had been placed somewhere like this.

"If you could just take off your boots," Karen said, pointing to a row of three boot trays to the right of the door, littered with a dozen pairs of shoes in various little boy sizes, as well as a pair of pink tennis shoes and a pair of bright red snowboots.

"The boys have already set the table and everything is ready, so I hope you're hungry," Karen chattered as Clint toed off his boots and then hung up his coat on the overflowing rack on the opposite wall.

"I actually…I don't really know why I'm here," Clint admitted as Karen started to steer him away from the hall. He stepped in a patch of freezing cold water that had clearly melted from the snow on someone's boots. He resigned himself to the feeling of partially soggy sock for the rest of the evening.

"Oh duh!" Karen playfully smacked her own forehead, smiling toothily at him. "Your young man did say that this was a surprise for you for Christmas. You must be such a good soul, to want something like this for a gift! When he told me, I could hardly believe it! We were really wondering about how we were going to manage a nice Christmas this year, things have been hard with the economy, you know? But last week your Mr. James came to me and gave a very generous donation, and he only had a few stipulations for it, clearly as a surprise for you! Is Mr. James going to be joining us as well?"

"No," Clint answered, latching on to the name. He wondered if it was his first name or his last name. "Just me tonight." He realized that he still had no idea what he was here for as Karen started ushering him out of the hallway once more, but he decided to just let her lead him. He'd figure it out soon enough, he was sure.

She led him into a dining room filled with about forty boys ranging from about six to sixteen. They were gathered around two long tables that had just barely been fit into the long dining room. The benches that they boys sat on were so close to the walls and each other that Clint wondered how any of them managed to get up from the table at all. The tables were filled with food and place settings, and in the most prominent position, in a row of three down one table and four down the other, were seven small turkeys, cooked to perfection and waiting to be cut into and distributed.

"You go ahead and sit down," Karen said, gesturing towards one of the chairs at the end of the closest table. "I've just remembered I've got something for you. I'll be right back."

Clint sat, feeling awkward even though most of the boys didn't even seem to notice he was there. They were all chattering excitedly to each other, some of them sticking their fingers into dishes to taste some of the food when they thought no one was looking. There was another woman sitting at the end of the other table, and she smiled at him when he looked over. She was so gorgeous he had to remind himself more than once that it was rude to stare. Her skin was so dark it was almost literally black, and the contrast made her brown eyes look almost amber-colored. Her hair was cropped close to her head and she wore large golden hoop earrings in her ears. Clint thought that maybe she might be in her twenties, but it was hard to say for sure.

"Hi, I'm Charise," she introduced herself, leaning over to shake Clint's hand. Her accent was very clearly Brooklyn, and Clint found himself surprised by that. For some reason he had expected her to have a foreign lilt to her voice. "It's real nice of you to do this for these kids. They don't get a lot, you know?"

"Yeah," Clint said. "I know. But really it wasn't me…"

"Your boyfriend for you, yeah," Charise said, shrugging her shoulders elegantly. "Still. I'm just saying, the world would be a better place if more people thought to give instead of just receive. There's enough food here that we'll have leftovers for at least two days. Real good of you guys."

"Yeah," Clint answered, uncomfortable with her thanks. "Well, I know what it's like to live in an orphanage, so…"

Charise nodded, like suddenly everything made sense. "Ah, yeah, I could have guessed one of you was an orphan," she said. "You don't really get it unless you've been there. I think that's why a lot of volunteers at places like this were orphans. Where did you stay?"

"Oh, not in New York," Clint said, shrugging uncomfortably. "I was in a Children's Home in Iowa from six to eleven, and then my brother and I were put in foster care with a guy until I was seventeen and I got emancipated."

Charise nodded, like it was a story she'd heard a hundred times. "They ran out of space for you in the home, huh?" she asked. "Isn't it nice, when the bigger places shut you out so they can make room for the cuter, younger ones?" She sounded bitter, and Clint assumed she was speaking from her own experience. After Clint shrugged uncomfortably, she shook her head, sending her earrings flying around her face. "I shouldn't be so negative," she sighed. "At least someone was willing to take me in, right? There's only so much that can be done."

Clint nodded, and wondered how her experiences in foster care would compare to his, though to be fair he definitely hadn't had anywhere near the typical experience.

"Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you. This is real nice of you, and I know the boys really appreciate it."

"You're welcome," Clint offered awkwardly, knowing that he'd had nothing to do with it. Once he'd escaped the system, he'd never looked back. He wondered if he should reconsider that, now that he was in a better place in life. Thankfully, Karen reappeared at that moment and saved him from having to share about his past. She handed him a purple envelope with his name scrawled on the front and then turned to address the boys, asking them to "Thank Mr. Barton for being so generous, and for coming to share a meal". He had smiled awkwardly and nodded in acceptance of the chorus of thanks, but he had to admit it felt good to see the happiness on their faces when Karen gave the okay to start and the older boys started cutting off slices of turkey to pass around. He didn't have fond memories of his childhood or of the orphanage he'd lived in, but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate that "Mr. James" had acknowledged a part of Clint's past and did something generous in his name.

He tore open the envelope, more interested in it than eating at the moment. He could wait for food, but not this. He smiled when he read the card.

_"Seven "swans" a swimming in gravy. I hope this didn't overstep any boundaries. I know you're not particularly open about your past, but knowing what very little I do about where you come from and about you as a person, I thought you would appreciate it. Generosity is the gift that keeps on giving, after all. Enjoy your dinner."_

He tucked the card away into his pocket carefully, hoping that it wouldn't get too bent before he could get it home and hang it up on his wall. The dining room had gotten almost deafening with noise, and hearing the excited chatter of the kids made him grin. He knew how hard it could be to be happy in a Home, especially around Christmas, so it was nice to see them all enjoying themselves. Karen had seated herself next to him, and they were squeezed so tightly at the end of the table their plates were practically touching, but Clint found that he didn't really mind.

He'd just started eating when there was a loud knock on the front door. They just barely heard it over the noise, but Karen was immediately trying to push her chair back from the table, but only managing to get it tangled up with Clint's chair and the edge of one of the long benches.

"I'll get it," Charise said, getting up before Karen could managed to get her chair untangled. Karen smiled at the other woman as she left the dining room, and then turned to Clint.

"Charise started working here about two years ago," she explained. "And boy, has she been a huge help. There's only the two of us, full time. There are other volunteers of course, but mostly it's Charise and I. We're the only staff members who stay here over night, and honestly I just don't know how I survived her without her."

"She seemed nice," Clint offered. He didn't want to get into how bitter she seemed about the whole orphanage experience, because honestly he couldn't blame her, and he knew nothing about her motivations for working where she did.

"Oh she is. And she's so good with the boys," Karen said. "They listen to her better than they listen to me, that's for sure!"

Karen laughed, and Clint smiled awkwardly at her in response. He wasn't great with people, and he didn't know how long he could handle the small talk. He wondered if Mr. James (and boy was it good to have a name to call him by) had considered Clint feeling awkward in that setting, or if Karen had just been supposed to tell him what was going on and give him the envelope and had decided to invite him for dinner as well. He didn't know her very well, but from what he had seen of her, it kind of seemed like something that she would do.

He was saved from having to continue the small talk by the sound of Charise screaming from the front hall. Every head in the dining room snapped towards the direction of the door, and both Clint and Karen were immediately trying to struggle to their feet. Their chairs kept catching together and making it pretty impossible to move, so Clint hopped up on his chair and jumped over the back of it so he could get out of the room. He could hear Karen struggling to get all the boys seated and back under control behind him.

Charise was standing in the open doorway, staring out onto the porch. The cold air rushing through the hall made him shiver, and it all came across as pretty foreboding.

"Charise?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"

Charise's shoulders tightened at the sound of his voice, and then she shook her head, sending her earrings shaking. She didn't look away from the porch though. He approached her cautiously, not wanting to spook her, and looked over her shoulder to see what she was staring at. At first he didn't really understand what he was seeing, like his brain was trying to protect him from it, but after a few seconds of staring he figured it out. Someone had bashed a stray cat's head open and left it on the porch's welcome mat. He had to look away because he thought he might puke.

"Oh, god," he said, gently grabbing Charise by the arm and pulling her away from the door. He pushed it closed just as Karen appeared in the hall, looking concerned.

"What's the matter? Are you okay, Charise? You both look like you've seen a ghost…"

"Some sick fuck killed a cat on the porch," Charise spat, crossing her arms across her stomach and pressing her lips together in a thin line.

"What?" Karen demanded, looking for a moment like she wanted to go see if what Charise said was true, and then seeming to decide that she'd rather not see after all. "Why would someone do that?"

"Probably a message to all the _strays_," Charise growled, her eyes flashing angrily. "I'm gonna call the cops."

"Have you guys been having trouble in this neighborhood?" Clint asked. He couldn't imagine what kind of person would go out of their way to piss on the live of orphans. Their lives sucked enough as it was, they didn't need people leaving them dead animals on top of everything else.

"No!" Karen said, her eyes wide. "We've never had anything like this happen before! There are always some bullies from the neighborhood, of course. Kids can be very cruel. But to kill an animal? Absolutely not!"

Clint's mind immediately jumped back to the image of the cat's broken skull, and he was sure that it would be seared into his brain for the rest of his life. "No, kids don't do shit like that, not unless they're really fucked up," he agreed.

"Charise, don't call the police," Karen chided, putting her hand over the screen of Charise's phone. "Don't we have enough to deal with right now? Let's just forget about it and go back to the boys and eat our nice dinner, okay? If something else happens, we can call the police then."

Charise looked doubtful, but Karen's earnest face seemed to sway her resolve. She sighed and tucked her phone back into her pocket, crossing her arms again.

"Well, what are we supposed to do about the cat?"

"Get me a garbage bag and I'll take care of it," Clint volunteered, sliding one of his feet into his boot and leaning down to lace it up.

"Oh honey," Karen protested. "You're a guest, you don't have to…"

"It's okay. I'm going to head home anyway," Clint assured her. "I've honestly kind of lost my appetite." Charise nodded in agreement.

Karen looked upset, but she nodded anyway. "Well, if you're sure. I'm so sorry about this, Clint."

"It's okay," Clint assured her. "It's not your fault."

"Go back to the boys," Charise told Karen. "I'll get him a garbage bag."

Karen seemed reluctant, but she went all the same. By the time Clint finished putting on his shoes and his coat, Charise had come back with a garbage bag and a pair of rubber gloves.

"You can just throw the gloves out, too," she said, wrinkling her nose. "And the doormat. Thanks for doing this. I don't know if Karen or I would have managed."

"It's not a problem," Clint assured her again. "Merry Christmas."

"You too," Charise said, and the averted her eyes as Clint opened the door and stepped outside. The cold air sunk straight into his bones, and he convinced himself that it was the weather that was making him shiver, and not the body of the cat that he had to step over to get out the door.

"Aw, kitty," he muttered sadly, shaking the garbage bag open. He was thankful for the gloves when he discovered that the welcome mat was wet with fluids, and he did his best to just get the whole thing in the garbage bag as quickly as possible. He threw the whole bundle in the garbage on his way past, and he hoped the cat hadn't suffered too much.

The trip home seemed longer than it should have been, and Clint was just ready for the day to be over. All he wanted was to take a really long shower and then not think for a few hours. By the time he got up the stairs of his apartment building, he was so done with everything that he just wanted to lay down and sleep. There was a note taped to his front door when he reached his apartment, and for one hopeful moment he thought it might be from Mr. James. And then he realized that it definitely wasn't.

_"Hope you liked the present. Plenty more pussycats where that one came from, bro. The boss is losing his patience." _

Clint ripped the note down viciously, sick with the thought that he was still being followed. If anything happened to those kids, it would be his fault. A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that it would be _Barney's_ fault, but Clint knew that it would be on him too. Yeah, Barney had brought the trouble, but Clint had let him stay.

He let himself inside and then did up all the locks, including the chain at the top. He crumpled the paper up in his hands and tossed it in the trash. He was jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of things falling over, followed by Barney's triumphant shout. His brother was standing at the entrance to the hallway in his boxers and a t-shirt, his arms thrown over his head in victory. Clint frowned at him and looked past him down the hall to see a collection of toppled DVD cases with a stress ball shaped like a globe bouncing away and towards the wall.

"What the hell are you doing?" Clint demanded. "Are you bowling with my roommate's DVDs?"

"I'm an excellent bowler," Barney informed him, his fingers tapping against his palm anxiously. He trotted down the hall to start setting up the DVDs again.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Clint demanded, chasing after him and starting to pick the cases up off the floor, despite Barney's protests. "This shit isn't mine, Barney! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I'm bored, Clint," Barney whined. "I've got to _do_ something. I've just been sitting here all day, I've got to move."

Clint frowned suspiciously at his brother. He was acting like an overly energetic kid, and Barney had never acted that way even when they _were_ children. He finished collecting the DVDs and went to put them back on the shelf, flipping on the overhead light as he went. True to his suspicions, Barney's pupils were blown wide even in the bright light.

"You're fucking high!" Clint snarled, shoving his brother back with one arm. Barney stumbled a bit at the blow, and the straightened up, getting right back in Clint's face.

"Fuck yeah, I'm high, what the hell else was I supposed to do?"

"I told you not to do that shit in my apartment, Barney," Clint reminded him angrily, fighting the instinct to shrink back from the familiar looming form that shot his brain straight back to his childhood.

"Yeah, well, you weren't here," Barney insisted. "And what are you gonna do about it, little brother?"

"I should fucking throw you out of here," Clint growled back, straightening up and stepping right back into Barney's space, like Barney had stepped into his. If it was a battle for dominance that he wanted, Clint would give it to him. He had all the cards, and Barney only had one.

"You wouldn't fucking dare," Barney laughed. "You owe me, Clint."

"I don't owe you shit!" Clint's voice was starting to rise, and he wondered how long it would be before someone threatened to call the cops. He really didn't fucking need that, on top of everything else. He took a moment to calm himself. "If you use that shit in my house again, I'll flush it down the toilet," he promised.

"You would not," Barney laughed, "You don't have the guts. You've always been such a bitch, Clint. Ever since we were kids, you've always just done what you were told and just taken everything that anyone threw at you.. No wonder you grew up to be a fag. You just love taking it from anyone who is willing to give you the time of day, don't you?"

And that's when Clint punched his brother in the face. Barney reeled back hard, clearly not having expected it. His nose immediately started gushing blood, and he looked up at Clint with wide eyes. He didn't even try to hit back, just raised a hand up to try and stem the flow of blood. He plopped down on his ass in the middle of the hallway, his eyes looking dazed. It was such an odd and childlike reaction. Clint stared down at his brother curled into himself on the floor, trying to keep blood from dripping off his face, and he felt a rush of regret. Guilt immediately washed over him, and Clint went to fetch a napkin from the kitchen counter.

He knelt down next to his brother and wanted to shoot himself when he saw the way Barney instinctually flinched back from him. He remembered what it was like to be afraid of people reaching towards you, but not being able to try to get away, because it the end that would only make it worse. What kind of piece of shit hit people to solve their problems? He gently pushed Barney's hands away from his face and pressed the napkin up against his nose, prodding gently to see if it was broken. Thankfully, it didn't appear to be.

"God, Barney I'm so sorry," he sighed. "I shouldn't have hit you."

"No, no, I'm sorry," Barney said, his voice thick around the flow of blood. "I was being an asshole, I wanted you to hit me. I'm fucked up, Clint, I'm fucked up and I know it and I brought it here to you and I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Clint tried to assure him, praying that his brother didn't start crying. He didn't know what he would do with that.

"Please don't throw me out," Barney said quietly. "I don't know what they'll do to me, Clint. You can't let them…"

Clint thought of the cat, and he shook his head. "Of course not, Barney," he shushed his brother. "I could never just betray you like that, okay?"

Barney nodded dumbly, and Clint heaved a heavy sigh. "You've gotta stop with the drugs, Barn."

"I _can't_, Clint. You don't think I tried? I can't. I just…" Barney protested.

"I'll help you," Clint promised him. "You don't have to do it alone. You can go to rehab…"

"Can't afford rehab," Barney snorted. "Can't even afford to pay for my drugs."

Clint froze for a moment, his thoughts racing. He hated what he was about to say, but how could he do anything else? "I...I can take the next semester at school off and help you pay for rehab, okay?" The thought of putting off his last semester of college pained him down to his core, but how could he justify something as stupid as school when the alternative could save his brother's life?

"You'd do that?" Barney asked him.

"I would," Clint assured him. For a minute, he wasn't sure if Barney had heard him, but then he was shaking his head adamantly and pushing away from Clint's touch.

"No," Barney said, and Clint could feel him shaking as he tried to push Clint away from him. "No, no I can't, I _need_ them, Clint, I can't."

"Okay," Clint said quickly, trying to calm him down. "It's okay, Barney, I won't make you quit." Honestly, he would make Barney quit if he thought that he could, but he knew addiction didn't work that way. If Barney wanted to use, then he would, and nothing Clint could do could force him to stop. It would just be a waste of their time and Clint's money if Barney wasn't willing to try to stop.

Barney stopped struggling against him and just kind of sagged. "I feel like shit," he said hoarsely. "You fucked up my high."

"Yeah, well, forgive me if I don't feel bad about that," Clint deadpanned. "You're kind of an asshole, Barn."

"Yeah, I know," Barney sighed.

"But, just so you know," Clint said as he helped Barney get to his feet shakily and then led him to sit on the couch. "The offer stands. If you change your mind, I'll figure out a way to pay for rehab, okay?"

Barney grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and waved Clint away from him, so Clint took that as, "yes, thank you my wonderful and selfless brother" and let it be.

"I'm gonna go take a shower and then go to bed. Please don't die on my couch."

"Sure thing," Barney grumbled, and as Clint headed towards the bathroom, he couldn't help but worry about what else might happen while Barney stayed with him.

* * *

The day had been excruciatingly slow after the rushes had passed, but Clint had stuck around after his shift anyway. He really had no desire to go home and deal with Barney and his issues. Instead, he had hung around the shop, pestering Phil and Darcy while they worked. Towards the tail-end of Darcy's shift, a group of girls had trooped through the door, chattering loudly amongst themselves. They'd all made loud, excited noises when they saw Darcy, and she had shrieked right back at them. Clint had flinched and covered his ears, but Phil had just given him a resigned look and shook his head. Apparently he was used to this particular group, because the girl kept shrieking and covering his ears wasn't really helping.

Clint stepped behind the counter to take orders and handle the register while Darcy and Phil made the drinks, because Clint was still pretty helpless at it. It took them long enough to get everything put together that Darcy's shift was done by the time they finished, and honestly Clint was kinda looking forward to her leaving. Not that he didn't like Darcy, but he thought it would be nice to hang around with Phil in the quiet of the nearly-empty shop for a few hours. But apparently that was just not going to happen.

"Clint!" Darcy said, rounding on him with a sharp grin. "I need your help!"

"Uh…" Clint started uncertainly, but he paused too long. It gave Darcy to opportunity to latch onto his arm and drag him around the counter with her.

"I need to go Christmas shopping and I need you to help me. See, Natasha helped me out with something a few weeks ago and I want to get her a present as a thank you, so I need you to come with me and help me pick something out."

"Why me?" Clint asked weakly. "You've got all these friends with you, right?"

"Well, yeah," Darcy said. "But you're Natasha's best friend, so you'll know what she likes."

"That...is very debatable," Clint said, but somehow he just knew that Darcy wasn't going to let it go. "Every year Natasha picks something out, I pay for it, and that's what she gets for Christmas from me."

"Oh my god!" Darcy looked scandalized. "You're like the worst best friend ever! But the fact remains that you know Natasha way better than I do, so you're still coming." He shot an exasperated look at Phil, begging with his eyes for the older man to come to his rescue, but Phil only grinned at him and waved him off. Traitor.

Realizing that the battle had been lost before it had even really begun, Clint went to fetch his coat.

"Yay!" Darcy cheered, prancing after him to collect her own jacket.

"What did Natasha do for you anyway?" Clint asked.

"She taught me how to give a great blowjob," Darcy answered, completely straight-faced.

"Oh my god!" Clint sputtered, taking a step back from her. "You're just a baby!"

"I'm sixteen," Darcy corrected him haughtily. "Besides, my boyfriend seems to appreciate it."

"I do not want to even think about that," Clint told her seriously. "You're an infant and you shouldn't be...ugh. Let's just change the subject."

"You asked," Darcy said with a shrug.

"Anyway!" Clint interrupted loudly. "Who are your friends?" He regretted asking almost immediately, because there were seven on them and he just wasn't sure he was actually going to be able to remember their names.

"This is Kate!" Darcy said pointing to the nearest girl with dark hair and a purple pea coat. "And that's Kamala, Gert, and Molly. And they're Nico, Karolina, and Cassie." They were all average height and pretty. None of them looked exactly alike, of course, but they were all similar enough that Clint was sure he'd forget which was which within just a few minutes. "You got all that?" Darcy asked with a grin, like she knew that he didn't.

"Uh...yeah, I guess," he said, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"Aw, he's just so cute!" the one in the pink hat, who he was pretty sure was Molly, squealed. "He's so awkward!"

"Uh…" Clint said, proving her point.

"Hot too," one of the others spoke up, but he couldn't remember if she was Karolina or Cassie.

"Okay!" Clint said loudly. "Firstly, you're like way too young for me. Secondly, I'm seeing someone. Well...kind of." He was kind of stunned himself at the revelation. He hadn't really put a lot of thought into whether he was going to give Mr. James a chance or not. He still wasn't quite sure that it was fair, considering his massive crush on Phil, but apparently his lizard brain had come to some sort of consensus without him.

"You are?" Darcy asked, her brow furrowing. "I didn't know that!"

"Yeah, well, I mean...he anonymously gives me gifts, it's a thing. So...I will be seeing someone in a few days. Probably." His sentence was punctuated by Phil knocking a mug off the counter and shards of glass flying everywhere.

"Jesus, Phil, are you okay?" Clint demanded, turning on his heel to check on his boss, who was already kneeling on the floor and picking up pieces of the broken mug. His face was a little red, and it made Clint grin. He was embarrassed about breaking a mug, how adorable was that?

"Yeah," Phil answered, carrying the bigger shards to the garbage can. "I'm fine. I've just got to go...grab a broom." He disappeared into the back, and Clint raised his eyebrow questioningly at Darcy, who just shrugged.

"Got me, man. I guess he has to act weird sometimes, right? Anyway, let's go!" She grabbed his arm again and started steering him towards the door, and he felt kind of trapped when her friends closed in around them. "Bye Phil!" she called loudly as they went out.

"So tell us more about your super secret boyfriend," one of the girls requested. Gert? Maybe Gert.

"Uh, well. I mean, he's not really my boyfriend."

"But you're considering dating him," the dark skinned girl said. "So he must be really impressing you with his gifts.

"Well, yeah. I mean. It's sweet." He was doing his best not to blush. The girls were swarming around him like sharks, and he feared they would attack at the first scent of blood.

"What has he given you?"

"Uh. Well. They're based on the Twelve Days of Christmas?" that was met with a resounding "Aww!" and then much chatter.

"You know what's weird though," Darcy spoke up. "Is that I always got this feeling that you were crushing hardcore on Phil."

Clint wondered if she could see how pale his face had gone in the dark. The grin that lit across her face told him that she could.

"Well," he said. "I mean. Yeah. I am. I have been for a long time, but it's never gonna happen so why shouldn't I be happy? Even if this guy isn't who I really want right now, that doesn't mean he can't be, right?"

"Right," Darcy answered slowly, looking a little dubious.

He took a moment to look for an escape route, and when he saw he was surrounded on all sides with Darcy still clinging to his arm, he just gave in to his fate. Shopping couldn't be that bad, right?

* * *

Shopping was that bad. They'd been out for hours, looking through stores that had prices that had made Clint want to have a stroke. Two hundred dollars for a t-shirt was the craziest thing he'd ever heard. The entire time they'd been out, he'd been grilled about Mr James and about his feelings for Phil, and about what Nat might want for Christmas and pretty much anything they could think of, really. He was glad to be home.

As he reached the landing of his floor, he saw that there was something taped to the door. He considered just ignoring it as he walked towards the door. He really didn't need any vague yet menacing threats tonight. However, when he got close enough, he realized that it was a purple envelope with his name in now-familiar handwriting scrawled across the front. He smiled and opened the envelope excitedly.

_"I have minions everywhere. I hope you enjoyed your eight maids-a-milking (you for information)"_

He laughed out loud and let himself into his apartment. Fucking Darcy and her seven friends grilling him was a _gift_? He'd have to have a talk with Mr. James when they finally came face to face. And then he remembered that he'd told Darcy about his feelings for Phil. Darcy, who apparently knew who Mr. James was and knew him well enough to have had agreed to help him out. He felt sick. She wouldn't tell him about Clint's crush on Phil, would she? Although, if he knew both Bucky and Darcy, it must have meant that he spent a lot of time at Uncommon Grounds, so maybe he knew already? Because apparently Clint wasn't very subtle.

He was considering locking himself in his room to over-think his situation when Barney came stumbling towards him, looking ashen.

"Jesus, are you okay?" Clint demanded.

"I want to quit," Barney said, his voice hoarse.

"What?"

"I got high today, and it was terrible. It used to feel so great and powerful, but it just felt like nothing and I hated it. I want to quit the drugs. I hate myself Clint. I hate that I'm so stuck on it and I can't do anything unless I know that I'll be able to get a fix and I just. I don't want to do it anymore. But I can't do it by myself."

Clint took a very quick few seconds to wrap his brain around the sudden change of heart, and then he barrelled right in. If he hesitated too long, who knew what Barney would think?

"Okay," he said. "Okay, I'll help you, Barn. We'll get it all sorted out. I've saved up enough for tuition for next semester, and I can use that to pay for rehab for you. But Barney, you've got to want to do this or it's not gonna work. I can pay for rehab, but I can't make you stop. You've gotta be willing to try."

"I am," Barney said quickly. "I will, Clint, I promise. I'll fix my life up just like you did."

"Okay," Clint said, hating himself for wishing he didn't have to spend next semester's tuition on fixing his brother's addiction. "Then I'll look some stuff up tonight and get it all set up during my lunch break tomorrow, all right?"

"Tomorrow?" Barney asked. "That fast?"

"The faster the better, Barn. Besides, they probably won't take you in until Monday anyway. Maybe not even until after the holiday."

"Yeah...okay," Barney agreed, but he sounded a bit more reluctant.

"It'll be safe there, Barn," Clint told him. "They won't let anyone in to see you unless you say it's okay. You'll be much safer there than you are here."

Barney only nodded.

"Okay," Clint said, making up his directions on the fly and hoping that he sounded convincing. "The first thing we have to do is get rid of the drugs."

Barney looked at him like he'd suggested ripping a baby in half. His eyes immediately darted to his backpack, like he wanted to throw himself in front of it and protect it with his life.

"I don't know, Clint…" he hedged.

"This isn't going to work if you're not even willing to try," Clint told him sternly. "If you don't want to bother, just tell me, but I am not putting off graduation if you're not even going to give it a chance."

"No," Barney said quickly, like he was afraid Clint might disappear. "No, I can do it. I can get rid of them." He reached into his bag and pulled out a ziploc bag that was half filled with white powder. Clint almost choked when he saw it. No wonder those guys were after him, if he'd stolen that much and more.

"Jesus Christ, Barney!"

"I know, I know," Barney said, sounding chagrined. "Here."

Clint almost didn't even want to touch the bag, but he knew that thought was ridiculous. It wasn't like it could infect him. He grabbed the bag and pulled it from Barney's slightly resistant grasp and then headed straight for the bathroom. Barney didn't follow him, and Clint hesitated before upending the bag. It was a lot of coke, maybe even a couple thousand dollars worth, and it felt wrong to just flush it. On the other hand, he knew logically that nothing good could come of him keeping it.

He stared at the baggie for a long minute, and then he made a decision. He opened the bathroom closet as quietly as he could and stuffed the bag into one of Natasha's boxes of tampons. Barney would never look in there, and Clint could find a better place to hide it later. He flushed the toilet for show and then headed back to the living room, hoping that he didn't look as nervous and twitchy as he felt.

Barney was gripping his hands together so tightly that his knuckles had gone white and he looked like he might be sick at any minute.

"I know it's scary, but this is a good thing," Clint assured him. Barney nodded quietly.

"Yeah, I know." They were quiet for a few minutes, and Clint thought longingly of his bed. It had been such a long day, and he really just wanted to go to sleep and make it over, but now he had a lot of research to do before sleeping. He put his arm over Barney's shoulders and led him back to the living room, settling him down on the couch.

"Just watch some TV, okay? If you get hungry, help yourself to the fridge. I'm gonna be doing some research."

Barney mumbled his assent. Clint spied the purple pastry box on the coffee table and decided that he could really use a cupcake. When he opened the box, all he saw was paper wrappers and broken pieces of the beautiful sugar geese. Barney was looking at him guiltily, his hands twisting in his lap.

"I'm sorry. Just...I kinda got a sugar craving? It happens when I'm high, sometimes. i can buy you new ones."

No, he couldn't.

"No," Clint said out loud. "Don't worry about it, Barn." He looked sadly down at the broken pieces of the geese, and he poked a wing joint gently with the tip of his finger, like that might fix it. He nudged aside a wrapper, though, and saw one that was still mostly intact. The tip of its wing had broken off, but otherwise it was all in one piece. He rescued it from the box and carefully cradled it in one hand while he threw the rest into the garbage.

Looking at his sad little goose, Clint almost wanted to cry. He hated himself for how much he resented Barney. They were only cupcakes, after all. It was only college. Barney was his brother, and Clint should be glad to help him. But all Clint could do was think about how everything had been going so well before Barney showed up. Clint took the goose back to his room and set it gently on top of his bookcase where he hoped it would be safe.

* * *

"Why don't you go take your lunch break?"

Phil's voice snapped Clint back to attention, and he realized that he'd been nodding off as he stood over the register.

"Oh jeez," he grumbled, running a hand over his face to try and rub the sleep away. "Sorry, Phil."

"It's okay," Phil said, his smile small and amused. "No one is here anyway. Late night?"

"Yeah," Clint sighed heavily. "Like, way later than I meant to."

"Is everything alright?" Phil asked.

"Well…" Clint hesitated, glancing around the store. It was fairly full, and the hum of voices was enough to convince him that he probably wouldn't be overheard if he kept his voice down. "You know how I said my brother was having trouble?"

Phil immediately looked more alert, glancing at the door like maybe he thought the tracksuit Draculas would burst through right at that moment. The strong stance and watchful eyes suddenly reminded Clint that Phil kept a gun on him all the time. He didn't know whether Phil was paranoid or not, but the thought did make him feel generally safer.

"Did they do something to you? Or your brother?" Phil asked urgently.

"No!" Clint answered quickly. Not yet, he didn't say. "Just...the reason he's having trouble with them is that he's…" Clint paused for a moment, and then lowered his voice, leaning just a bit more into Phil's space. "He's a coke addict, and he stole a ton of their stock," he said quietly.

"Shit," Phil said, and Clint nodded in agreement.

"Yeah," he said. "But last night when I got home from shopping hell with Darcy, he told me he wanted to quit and go to rehab because he's unhappy. So I was up all night researching rehab clinics."

"Oh." Phil sounded surprised, like that's not where he had expected the explanation to end. Clint honestly couldn't blame him.

"Yeah," Clint shrugged. "So I've gotta figure out payment and stuff, but there's a six-week inpatient program that looks pretty promising. So I'll probably take him there tomorrow and get it all set up. He'll be safe there, anyway."

"He will be," Phil agreed. "But what about you? How much longer do you think they're going to keep up with pounding down your door before they get really violent?" Again, Clint's mind flashed to the image of the cat on the porch, but he didn't say anything. He didn't need to worry Phil. It wasn't his problem.

"I don't know, I'll figure it out," he said, hoping that he sounded reassuring. "But first I have to figure out this rehab thing."

"If he's decided to do rehab, why are you doing all the research?" Phil asked, his lips turning down in a frown. "Doesn't that seem like something he should be involved in?"

"Honestly?" Clint answered with a sigh. "I really don't think he's in a place where he can make a ton of decisions right now. I don't want to stress him out and have him do something crazy. I don't mind doing it. I certainly owe him for how much he did for me, anyway."

"If you say so," Phil offered, and usually Clint would be annoyed at the tone, but he just didn't have the energy for it.

"I do say so," he answered instead. "I am gonna take that lunch break actually. Is it okay if I sit at your desk?"

"Yeah, of course," Phil answered, looking torn between wanting to press the issue and the fact that Clint clearly needed to sit down for a bit.

"Thanks." Clint didn't even bother getting himself something to eat. He just set an alarm on his phone, and as soon as he was sitting, he put his head down and went to sleep.

* * *

His nap was short, but it was enough to reset his brain and keep him going for the rest of his shift. Still, when Darcy came in at four, all he wanted to do was go home and go to sleep. The only thing that kept him from rushing straight out the door was the fact that she had a purple envelope in her hand.

"You!" he said, pointing an accusatory finger at her, "you are a trick and a sneak and a liar!"

"I am!" she agreed cheerfully. "Now do you want the envelope or not?"

"Yeah, give it to me," Clint said, making impatient grabby hands at her.

"I should make you say please," Darcy said, but she handed over the envelope anyway. Clint practically tore it from her hand in his haste to open it.

"What's this, the gift thing from your not-boyfriend?" Phil asked, looking on curiously.

"Yeah," Clint answered breathlessly, wondering when he'd become okay with the idea of Phil thinking that he had a boyfriend. He split the seam and pulled out three pieces of paper. One was the usual cardstock, with a short message written on it.

_"A little more than nine ladies dancing, but I think the sentiment is the same. I'd really like it if you'd go on a date with me. If you're agreeable, meet me under the tree at Rockefeller Center on Christmas at 6:30. If you're not, I'll understand."_

The other two pieces of paper were tickets to the Radio City Christmas Spectacular, and Clint couldn't stop the smile stretching over his face. A date. A real date, with someone who liked him and wanted to please him. He hadn't been on a date in...well, ever, really.

"You might want to tone down on the grinning there," Darcy said, but she was grinning too. "You might crack your face in half."

"And that would be a tragedy," Phil deadpanned from one of the coffee machines. He didn't even turn around and look at them to do it.

"Yeah, you guys are assholes," Clint said, but he didn't think anything could ruin his mood.

"So what did you get?" Darcy asked, trying to peek at the note. Clint pulled it away from her and hid it from her prying eyes. He didn't quite know why, except that maybe he just wanted to keep it to himself for a while.

"Tickets to the Rockettes," Clint said, not bothering to fight down his smile. "He wants to go on a date with me."

"You sound surprised," Phil remarked.

"Well...I've never actually been on a date before," Clint admitted.

"What?" Darcy demanded, exchanging a _look _with Phil. "How do you get to be 25 years old and never have been on a date? Oh my god! Clint Barton, are you a virgin?"

"Jesus, Darcy!" Clint hissed as the people at nearby tables started to stare at him. "I am not a virgin! I've just never been on a date, okay? It just never came up."

"I don't even understand how that can be a thing," Darcy said flatly. "How did you even survive high school?"

"I didn't go to high school," Clint informed her, refusing to feel ashamed.

"Oh," Darcy said eloquently. "Well I guess I'm done putting my foot in my mouth for now. I'm gonna go...over there." She waved in the general direction of the counter and headed into the back.

"Darcy," Phil said, like that explained everything.

"Darcy," Clint agreed.

They spent a moment recovering from close-Darcy proximity before Clint let out a jaw-cracking yawn and remembered that he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep.

"Okay, well. I'll see you after Christmas then? I'm not on the schedule for tomorrow," he offered as a good bye.

"Oh yeah, the shop is closed until boxing day," Phil said. "My brother is going to come in and put down new counter tops, and the only time he could fit me into his schedule was tomorrow, so I figured I'd just add an extra day to the Christmas break."

"Okay," Clint said with a nod. "Cool. I'll see you Thursday then. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Phil returned with a small smile, and Clint felt a pang in his chest. Part of him wished that it was Phil he would be meeting for a date on Christmas, but that felt like a really shitty thing to wish when Mr. James had been so kind to him. Clint was excited about meeting him and even dating him, but part of him just couldn't let Phil go. It made him feel awful and conflicted but he just couldn't help himself.

Instead of forcing himself to think it through and face his own twisted up emotions, Clint decided to go home and sleep instead. Sleeping wouldn't get rid of his problems, but it would certainly make them easier to ignore, and that sort of avoidance was something Clint could definitely support.

* * *

"Hey, Clint! Cliiiint! Wake up!"

Clint groaned loudly as Barney's knocking and yelling woke him from his deep sleep. He planted his face down in his pillow, in hopes that it might make Barney go away, but it appeared to be to no avail. Barney just knocked louder.

"God, Barney, what?" he yelled finally, rolling out of bed to go unlock his door. He shivered when his feet hit the hardwood, which immediately sent a chill through his entire body. He considered stopping to put some clothes on, but Barney was still knocking incessantly, so he decided to just answer the door in his boxers.

"Dude," he said, when he finally got the door open. "What?"

"It's like ten-thirty," Barney reported rolling his eyes, "You said to make sure you were out of bed by now because we're checking me into the mad house today, right?"

"It's not a mad house, it's rehab," Clint grunted, and then he checked his watch. It was actually 10:38, which kinda threw off his schedule a bit, but he could still figure it out.

"Yeah, okay," Clint nodded. "I'm gonna shower and get dressed. "You wanna make something real fast for breakfast?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Barney answered reluctantly. "I'm not your damn live-in chef, you know."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch!" Clint replied dryly. Barney's only response was to flip him the bird as he headed down the hallway.

Clint spent longer in the shower than he probably should have, but his original schedule was already fucked anyway, so he didn't see why he couldn't spend a few extra minutes with his face turned up under the spray of hot water. He waited until the water started to go cold before he got out, and was met with frigidly cold air when he left the bathroom as punishment for it.

The weather outside looked gray and cold, so he dressed in heavy jeans and a gray shawl collar sweater that Natasha had bought him. He didn't usually dress according to the current fashion, much to Natasha's dismay, so every once in a while she would buy him something she thought he would look nice in and he usually ended up liking what she bought. Natasha was awesome at choosing clothes that would make people look amazing, but it also helped that she knew him well enough to know what he would give in to wearing and what he would hang in his closet and never look at again. The sweater had actually grown to be something that Clint was very fond of. It was comfortable and warm, and he thought he looked pretty good in it, and he always wore it on days that looked particularly cold.

Barney had thrown together some pancakes by the time Clint emerged from his room, and was already sitting down and devouring his share. They were kind of lopsided and little too dark around the edges, but they were still good. Clint chose to slather his with strawberry jam and roll them up, while Barney doused his in about a gallon of syrup and cut them into large chunks with a fork and knife.

"Oh hey," Barney said suddenly when Clint was about halfway done with his breakfast. "Some guy came by while you were in the shower. Left this for you." He tossed the purple envelope across the table like a frisbee, and Clint practically lunged at it in his attempts to catch it.

"He brought it up here himself?" Clint asked, astonished. "What did he look like?"

Barney shrugged, shoving another forkful of pancake in his mouth. "I dunno. Brown hair. Pretty average, I guess."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Clint demanded. "He was right in front of you! What color were his eyes?"

"Fuck if I know!" Barney shot back. "I'm not gay!"

"Oh yes, because only the gays can see color, my mistake," Clint responded dryly, throwing a piece of pancake at his brother.

"Shut up, I just mean that I wasn't staring into his eyes, okay? He looked...like a guy? I mean...just like a normal guy."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Clint groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "How could not _know_?"

"I didn't think it was important," Barney said defensively.

Clint heaved a heavy sigh and then tried to calm himself down. "It probably wasn't him," he said out loud. "He wouldn't have known you were here, so he wouldn't have brought it to me himself. So he probably sent someone else to do it, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Barney grumbled. "Who is this guy anyway?"

"He's...it's nothing," he didn't feel like getting teased about his mystery gift giver. "Don't worry about it."

"Yeah, sure seems like nothing," Barney remarked, but he didn't push it any more than that.

Clint considered opening the envelope, but he honestly didn't want to do it in front of Barney and raise anymore questions. Instead, he just stuck it into his pocket to look at later. They were quiet for a few minutes as they finished breakfast, and then as Clint washed up. Finally, though, it was time to be getting ready to leave, and both of them were pretty reluctant. Barney kept looking through his bag, like he was worried that he might forget something even though he'd been living out of the bag the entire time he'd been there. Clint had given him a few extra shirts, to supplement what little he already had, and they were folded and tucked to one side.

The website for the rehab center Clint had chosen had had really extensive rules on what was and was not allowed there, including things like razors and porn, which Clint understood, but also things like books and iPods, which he didn't. Not that it really mattered, since Barney hadn't had any of those things in his bag, but Clint wanted this all to start off on the right foot. Barney was already wary of the entire idea, and he didn't want anything to scare him off.

"You ready?" Clint asked him after a few minutes, and Barney only nodded quietly. "It's not gonna be that bad."

"It'll be like prison all over again," Barney said sullenly.

"No, it won't," Clint tried to sound reassuring. "It'll be a lot of therapy and stuff, but it definitely won't be prison. You don't have to do things you don't want to, but honestly it'll all be pretty useless if you don't at least try to let them help you."

"Yeah."

"Look, Barney, this is a good thing. It's only for six weeks, and then you can start fresh. I'm really proud of you for doing this, you know. I get that it's not going to be easy."

Barney finally looked up from his bag. His eyes were kind of glassy, but he looked determined anyway.

"Yeah. I can do this. I can." Clint could tell he was trying to sound authoritative and in control, so he just nodded encouragingly.

"Hell yeah you can. Now, you remember where we're meeting?"

Barney nodded. They both headed into Clint's room and Clint undid the safety bars on the window and pushed it open to allow Barney to slip through and out on to the fire escape.

"Okay, I'll see you in a few minutes," Clint said. "Be careful."

Barney only nodded quickly before he started making his way down to the ground. Clint closed and locked the window again, resetting the bars as well. Then, he threw on his coat and headed outside the normal way.

Clint knew he was being watched, but he didn't know if it was all the time, so he figured it was better to be safe than sorry. He hoped that if he just left like normal and then met Barney in a populated area, they'd be able to jump into a cab before the tracksuit mafia could get to them. It wasn't the most foolproof or clever plan, admittedly, but it was what they had. He could only hope it worked.

He started off like it was any other day and he was headed off to work, but halfway to Uncommon Grounds, he turned off onto a side street and headed two blocks down, and then three blocks over. The area they'd chosen to meet was planted directly between a Starbucks and a Duane Reade, so there was plenty of pedestrian traffic to reassure Clint that it was relatively safe. Barney was standing with his back pressed to the wall between the two doorways to the shops. He had his hood pulled up to hide his red hair and was staring down at his shoes to hide his face from view. To anyone else, he might look like any punk kid hanging out on the street, but Clint was sure that he'd know his brother anywhere. He didn't approach Barney, just stuck his hand out for a cab and beckoned his brother over when one pulled to a stop in front of them.

Clint breathed a sigh of relief after he gave the clinic's address and they pulled away from the curb and into traffic. The hardest part had gone exactly according to plan. Once they were actually in the rehab center, Barney would be as safe as he would be anywhere, and Clint could relax completely.

* * *

The rehab center was called Green Gardens, though why, Clint wasn't really sure. It was a typical gray cement building with heavy metal doors and barred windows. It looked neither green nor particularly floral. Barney was looking at the building like he was being brought their for his execution, and Clint had to stand behind him and press against his shoulder to keep him moving.

"It's fine, Barney," he assured. "A lot of buildings in New York look like this. I bet it's really nice on the inside."

"Yeah," Barney agreed, his voice sounding hoarse. "I bet it's great."

Inside, it was much nicer. The door opened directly to a nice looking lobby with a soft, plush blue carpet and peach painted walls. There were some cushy armchairs and couches spread out along the walls with coffee tables spread with magazines placed in front of them. In one corner was a pair of large, heavy metal double doors and a reception window with a speaker set in the glass. A woman with dark hair and wearing bright pink scrubs sat behind it, typing on her computer.

"Hi," Clint called as he headed towards the window, gently nudging Barney along with him.

"Oh, hi!" the woman said cheerfully, looking up at them. "How can I help you?"

"I'm Clint Barton, I called yesterday about checking my brother in?" She looked down quickly at a yellow legal pad sat on the desk before looking back up at them with another big smile.

"Ah, yes! You must be Charles, then," she directed the last part at Barney, who was still standing behind Clint like he was using Clint as a barricade between the peppy nurse and himself.

"Barney," Barney said. "Not even my mother called me Charles."

"Okay!" the nurse agreed. "I just have some information sheets for you two to fill out and then I can show you around the facility and we'll get some vitals. Sound good?"

"Yeah, I guess," Barney answered, sounding like a sullen toddler. The nurse just smiled brightly in response and unlatched the little door at the bottom of her window to send a clipboard loaded with papers through. Clint was pleased by how serious they seemed to be about security. It made him feel better, knowing that he wouldn't have to worry about Barney's safety as well as his own.

Barney took the clipboard and they went to sit down while he filled it out. For the most part, Clint just read a back issue of People magazine and gave Barney answers where he needed them. The paperwork took about half an hour to fill out, and then they were approaching the window again and handing through the clipboard.

"Okay, great!" the smiley nurse said. "If you two could stand back, the doors swing outward." They stepped back as instructed, and she pressed a button that had the doors swinging open wide to admit them. As soon as they were through, the doors shut behind them and locked, making Barney look like a trapped animal.

"Hey," Clint said lowly. "It's not to trap you inside, it's to keep you safe, okay? If you wanted to, you could ask right now and they'd let you out."

Barney's eyes still looked a little wild, but he nodded slowly, breathing deeply to try and calm himself down. The smiley nurse came out of her little office and beckoned for them to follow her down a hallway. The tiled floor was a weird shade of almost mint green and the walls were stark white. It was very institutional, especially compared with the waiting room. Even Clint's skin crawled a little bit, but he tried his best to look upbeat and positive.

"The first floor here is the common area. Group therapies take place in the room to your left." The room to their left was a big, wide open space with a bunch of chairs stacked against one wall and not much else to it. Besides the large clock on one wall, there really wasn't anything else in the room, and Clint wondered if it was meant to prevent distraction. "This room is also used for group learning activities like dancing and yoga. They're not mandatory, of course, but we do encourage you to interact with the other residents as much as you feel comfortable."

"And over here is where prescribed medications can be picked up at the proper times," Nurse Smiley said, gesturing to another reception window set into the wall. The door that led to it was heavy and metal and had a keycode lock on it. "Unfortunately, with a building full of addicts we can't allow people to keep their medications in their rooms."

"Well, you know us addicts, we'll do anything for a high," Barney grumbled under his breath.

"Pretty sure that's in the definition of addict, Barn," Clint reminded him, and Barney just rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Nurse Smiley didn't seem to notice their back and forth at all, and just continued on her little tour. "This here is the common room," she said, gesturing into a huge room that was at least twice the size of the group therapy room they'd seen earlier.

The common room seemed much homier than anywhere else Clint had seen in the facility, and he was kind of glad for it. If the entire place had been as spartan as what he'd seen so far, he didn't know that he'd have been able to convince Barney to stay. The room had one of those rough beige carpets that were supposed to hide stains and the walls were painted a very pale pink. The room was full of couches that looked comfortable and way more lived-in than the ones that had been in the reception room. There were people milling about in the room as well, some watching what looked like a documentary on the TV and others playing various board games or curled up reading books that all seemed to be about self-help and recovery.

"Huh," Barney said. "Well, they all look normal."

"Well of course!" Nurse Smiley said. "Addiction is a terrible thing, but real people struggle with it every day. But people are more than their addictions."

Barney went quiet again, but Clint supposed that was better than back-talk. They continued on down the hall until the came to the end. To the left was a set of stairs and an elevator with a key card slot on the control panel, and to the right was a long room set up like a medical area with several cots and a lot of medical equipment around the place.

"We have a small medical facility here," Nurse Smiley explained, "it's enough to take vitals and help patients through withdrawal and do basic check ups and such. Unfortunately we're not really equipped to handle really big issues, and if those come up we'll have to transfer you to the nearest hospital. We'll be coming back here in a few minutes to take your vitals and establish a baseline, but first we'll get your bag checked and show you to your room."

Barney griped about letting the large male nurse search through his backpack, but he didn't actively fight it. They didn't find anything contraband, of course, so he was allowed his bag back with everything intact. Barney's room was on the second floor, and his roommate seemed pretty normal, if quiet. He barely glanced up from the notebook he was writing in when they entered.

"Loki, this is Barney, your new roommate," Nurse Smiley said, sounding extra peppy.

"Charmed," Loki murmured, but he didn't even look at Barney. Some people might have been offended, but Barney actually looked kind of relieved, like he had zero intentions of being friends with his roommate.

The room was nice, but pretty small. There were two matching twin beds, dressers, and desks with chairs, but no other furniture. The window draperies and bedding were blue, and the empty desk had a set of a large towel, a smaller wash cloth, and a travel-size soap and shampoo kit.

"There's a laundry room all the way down the hall and on the right. Laundry detergent is provided for you," Nurse Smiley explained. "There's a collapsible laundry hamper in your desk drawer. Now, if you don't mind I'd like to take a picture of you."

She brandished an old polaroid camera at them. "It's something we do, so you can see the physical differences from when you arrive to when you leave. If you'd like, your brother can be in it too, so you'll have something to decorate your wall!"

"Yeah, Clint, come be in a picture with me," Barney said through gritted teeth. Clint held back his sigh and just stepped closer to his brother. He threw an arm over Barney's shoulder and smiled dutifully for the camera. One bright flash and a few minutes of shaking later, the first picture of Clint and Barney together since they were kids had developed into existence.

It was immediately taped up above the desk by Nurse Smiley, who had produced a roll of scotch tape from her pocket. Barney stared at the picture for a long minute, and Clint could understand the impulse. They'd never really been very close or felt like the understood each other that well, but looking at the picture it was startling how much they looked alike. Barney was a bit broader in the face, his jaw a bit more square, but other than that and the hair colors, they were practically twins.

"Okay, well!" Nurse Smiley said cheerfully. "We'll leave you to start unpacking and we'll go handle some of the financial things, and then I'll come back up and take you to get a physical."

Barney tensed up again, and Clint pulled him into a slightly awkward hug to try and reassure him. Barney patted his back a few times and they pulled away quickly.

"I'll be by to see you as soon as I can," Clint told him. "As often as I can."

"We're allowing visitors for Christmas Eve and day," Nurse Smiley informed them. "But usually the only days we allow visitors are on Sundays. It tends to hinder recovery if the residents are exposed to a lot of outside influence. It can be harmful."

Clint wanted to know how familial support could be considered harmful, but he just decided to let it drop in the end. Arguing with nurses was not his idea of a good time.

"So I'll be back on Christmas, okay?" Clint assured him, and Barney just nodded. "Good luck, man."

"So, you wanted to set up a monthly payment plan, right?" Nurse Smiley asked as he followed her back downstairs and into a set of offices right next to the reception room.

"Right," Clint said. "But the down payment seemed kind of…"

"Well, yes, you have to pay for at least a quarter of the treatment up front," Nurse Smiley interrupted him. "But after that it's much easier, and we can arrange the payments around your income."

"Alright, awesome," Clint said, trying to sound totally game and not like his aspirations were falling apart around him. The down payment was just above two thousand dollars, which was just the right amount to ensure that he absolutely wouldn't be able to afford going back to school for his final semester. But it would be fine. Barney's health was more important than school anyway. Maybe if he reminded himself of that over and over he'd feel less like shit about the whole thing.

They set up a payment plan that Clint knew he would be feeling the repercussions of for at least two years and then said their goodbyes. As upbeat as he'd tried to be for Barney's sake, Clint was extremely relieved to leave the treatment center, even if meant stepping out into the cold December air. It had just had a sort of medical despair to it, and he'd never been particularly comfortable in places like that. He hoped that Barney dealt with it better than Clint would have.

He made his way to the nearest subway station, wondering if he was always going to feel so emotionally wrecked as long as Barney was in his life. His fingers were starting to ache from the cold, and cursed himself for forgetting his gloves. He shoved his hands into his pockets and frowned when he felt the stiff paper in one. It turned out to be the purple envelope Barney had handed him that morning. With all the running around, he'd pretty much forgotten about it.

He ripped open the envelope to find a flyer for a Winter Carnival being held in Central Park. A prominent feature of the flyer were sack races for various ages. Mr. James had circled the sack race part in sharpie and drawn a big smiley face next to it. Next, he pulled out a ticket for the Carnival itself. It was blue and covered with big white snowflakes and a picture of a snowman. The last thing in the envelope was the usual white cardstock with the blocky handwriting. Today's version was short and sweet,

_"I took the liberty to sign you up for your division in the sack race. Ten lords-a-leaping indeed. I hope you have fun at the carnival. You work so hard, you deserve some of that in your life."_

Clint couldn't stop himself from smiling, and he marveled at how easily a little note from Mr. James could make his troubles seem so far away. Not even two minutes ago he'd been lamenting the loss of his future, at least for the time being, but now he was just looking forward to going to a carnival and maybe getting some kettle corn. It was like Mr. James somehow always managed to put things into perspective. His gifts and notes made the world seem a little brighter and easier to deal with. They always made Clint happier, and he thought he might develop some sort of pavlovian response to purple wrapping paper and envelopes because of it.

He glanced at his watch and then at the flyer and saw that he had just enough time to make it to Central Park in time for the sack race, if he hurried.

And hurry he did.

* * *

One of the wide open fields in Central Park had been transformed into what Clint could only describe as a Winter Wonderland. Food vendors and rides for kids had sprung up in the field, along with a bunch of stations for midway games. The snow had been packed down and salted to create walkways the people wouldn't slip on, and there was a large Christmas tree that rose up in the center of the whole thing, decorated lavishly with everything from blinking lights to glittering tinsel. There had to be hundred of people there, parents and young children, teenagers who were clearly skipping school and tourists who were taking pictures of everything that moved. Clint flashed his ticket at the man standing at the ticket booth and ventured inside.

The smells of all the different food was making his stomach growl, and Clint wanted to sample a little bit of everything. One booth was selling decorated sugar cookies the size of Clint's head, another had caramelized roasted nuts, and another had light and fluffy looking fried dough topped with powdered sugar. He didn't stop quite yet, though. He had a sack race to win after all.

When he finally found the area where the sack races were being held, the adult women were just finishing up. Two women were neck and neck, but at the very last second one of them threw herself forward and fell through the finish line tape. She landed face-first in the snow, her legs tangled in her sack, but when she sat up she was grinning victoriously. The woman she'd just barely beaten laughed and helped her get back to her feet, brushing the snow off her jacket after she'd gotten back upright.

Clint found the guy who looked to be in charge and got ready for his race. He was up against nine other men, most of whom appeared to be dads or boyfriends who had been bullied into participating. Clint supposed that he was probably also a boyfriend who'd been bullied into participating, if boyfriend was the right word. Still the idea made him feel kind of proud, despite the fact that he was standing in a large burlap sack and getting ready to jump over a stretch of snow to win a gift card.

As often happened when a bunch of guys were pitted against each other, the competitiveness was rising, and Clint could feel it taking hold of him. He didn't have anyone to impress, but if the rest of them were gonna be really serious about this race, then he would too. When the horn blasted he took off with the rest of them, jumping as fast as he dared to while also trying to avoid slipping and falling. By the time the finish line drew near, Clint was almost neck and neck with the guy in second place and quickly closing in on the guy in first. By some miracle, the guy in first lost his footing and crashed to the ground a few yards to the finish line, and Clint decided to take a page from the book of the woman he'd seen before and he launched himself forward, feeling the minute resistance of the finish line break underneath his weight as he did so.

The face-full of cold, wet snow was totally worth it for the cheering and applause, and once he was upright, he bowed to the audience like he'd just put on the most amazing show ever.

"Ah, man," the guy who he'd beat grumbled. "My daughter is never going to let me live this down."

Clint laughed and offered his hand for a shake. "Sorry, man," he said, hoping he sounded sympathetic.

"That's okay," the guy shrugged. "Congrats."

Clint went to collect his prize, which was a thirty dollar gift certificate to Gray's Papaya and a large red pin that said "Sack Race Champion" that was promptly pinned proudly to the front of his jacket.

"Hey, Clint!" a familiar voice called as he started making his way back towards the food vendors, trying to decide what snack he was going to buy. He turned to grin at Phil Coulson as the man came towards him with a steaming travel cup in one hand.

"Hey Phil!" he greeted happily. "Look, I'm a champion!"

"I can see that," Phil answered, sounding amused. "That was a very impressive race just now."

"Thank you," Clint said, unable to help his pleased grin. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, well," Phil shrugged. "The shop is closed for the day and I didn't have anything else to do, and someone came by to hang a flyer advertising the carnival in the shop a couple of weeks ago, so I thought I might come check it out."

"And you found me, fulfilling my dream of becoming a Sack Race Champion," Clint sighed.

"Well, I'm glad I could be there to witness the momentous occasion," Phil responded dryly.

"Me too. This was a milestone, you know," Clint told him seriously.

"I'm sure it was."

They fell into step beside each other and headed in the direction Clint had been heading towards before. Phil took a sip of his drink and sighed happily, seeming content to just follow wherever Clint was heading. Clint had the sudden urge to hold Phil's hand, so instead he shoved his hands in his pockets and nudged Phil's arm with his shoulder.

"What are you drinking?" he asked.

"Wassail," Phil answered, humming happily like the drink was all he ever wanted in life.

"Right," Clint said, and then after a pause, "what's Wassail?"

"Oh," Phil said, sounding surprised. "It's one of those old fashioned, classic Christmas drinks. It's kind of like tart cider with a lot of spices in it. Do you want to try?" he offered his cup, and Clint couldn't say no.

As he took a drink (which tasted pretty much exactly as Phil had described) he couldn't help but think about how he was putting his mouth where Phil had just had his mouth, and part of him flailed inside. He sternly stomped down on that flail. For one, he wasn't a twelve year old, and secondly, he was at this carnival because another guy who had asked him out on a date had given him a ticket in hopes that he'd have a good time. Except that Mr. James probably hadn't planned on Clint spending his time at the carnival with another man that he'd been nursing a crush on for years. It was almost like cheating. Was it cheating if he wasn't technically in a relationship with the one man, and the other man didn't know that Clint wanted to date him?

"So?" Phil asked when Clint handed back the cup.

"It's okay," Clint granted, shrugging his shoulders. "Your cider is much better." He cursed himself, realizing how flirtatious that sounded, and then wondered if that was a bad thing. Flirting with Phil was something he'd always done, even if Phil didn't realize that Clint actually meant it. If he stopped now, would Phil think something was wrong? Was it totally wrong of him to flirt with Phil at all when he was planning on going on a date with someone else in two days?

"Well, thanks," Phil said warmly. "But they're not really the same thing. I guess you kind of have to have a taste for Wassail to enjoy it."

"Yeah, I guess...oooh, eggnog." Clint interrupted himself, turning sharply towards the booth that was boasting warm eggnog. The price was a bit staggering, but the smell was so nice that Clint just couldn't resist. He ordered the large one, just knowing that it was going to make him sick and not caring a single bit. Before he could pay, however, Phil handed a ten dollar bill over to the woman in the stand.

"Hey, what?" Clint demanded, hoping that his cheeks were pink enough from the wind and cold that Phil wouldn't notice he was blushing.

"Well I can't very well let the Sack Race Champion pay for his own drink," Phil answered, like it was totally normal for him to pay for things for Clint. "Think of it as a celebratory drink, all right?"

"Uh, yeah, okay," Clint said hesitantly. He wasn't usually so fond of letting people pay for things for him, but this was _Phil_. He let out a blissful sigh as he took his first sip of the warmed up eggnog, letting his eyes slip closed in appreciation. When he opened them again, Phil was staring at him intensely, and Clint wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss him. He found himself swaying forward and then, realizing what he was doing, he pulled back quickly and took another, larger drink from his cup. He burned his tongue, but that was okay, because it helped snap his brain back into place and reminded him why kissing his boss was a bad ideas in a hundred different ways.

"Thanks," he offered with a shy smile, and Phil just nodded.

"Come on, I see some caramelized almonds over there," Phil said after a few seconds of silence. "I suddenly have a need."

Clint followed him towards the stand and took a handful when it was offered, and just like that the awkwardness between them was broken. The almonds were crunchy and sweet and so perfectly good that Clint bought a bag full of caramelized cashews for himself. He stuck them into his pocket so he could scoop them out and into his mouth while still holding his eggnog in the other hand, and they helped to keep his fingers warm, if a little sticky.

They passed a man dressed as Santa Claus sat on a gold-painted throne with a line of excited kids and exhausted looking parents stretched in a long snake past some of the vendors, and Clint had to admit that he did not envy that guy. A bunch of kids sitting on you all day long while flashbulbs went off in your face was not his idea of a good time.

"You want to go sit on Santa's lap?" Phil asked when he noticed Clint looking, and Clint snorted with laughter.

"No, I think I'm okay," he said.

"Are you sure?" Phil wheedled, and Clint shoved him gently with his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"All right," Phil said, drawing out the words like he thought Clint was really missing out. "Say, do you think I could win at any of these midway games?"

"Yeah, probably not," Clint said. "Everyone knows these things are always rigged. Besides, what are you gonna do with a five foot tall Coca-Cola polar bear?"

"I don't know," Phil said, studying the gigantic stuffed animal that hung from the rafters of one of the midway game stations. "Maybe I could use it as a guard dog for the shop."

"Nah," Clint said. "Maybe a coat rack, but it's not nearly threatening enough to be a guard dog."

"I already have a coat rack," Phil sighed, sounding put out. "I guess I'll just have to forgo the giant bear. What a loss." He grinned at Clint, and Clint couldn't help but grin back.

"I feel your pain," Clint said solemnly. "How about I make you feel better with some Gray's Papaya? On me."

"Yeah, all right," Phil agreed. "It's so kind of the Sack Race Champion to share his winnings with me."

"You know it," Clint nodded. "I am downright charitable."

Once Phil started laughing, Clint couldn't keep his own in, and their chuckles continued as they made their way out of the carnival and towards 70th street.

"So what are you going to do on Christmas?" Phil asked as they walked, their shoulders hunched against the cold wind.

"Uh, I'll probably visit Barney and then hang around until my date," Clint said, wondering if reminding Phil he was practically dating someone would make things suddenly awkward, but Phil didn't seem to even notice. Maybe the flirting had all been Clint? He had thought, for a moment back there, that Phil wouldn't have objected if Clint had leaned in to kiss him, but clearly that was just wishful thinking. Which of course raised the question if he should rightfully be going on a date with Mr. James while he was still wishing that Phil would kiss him. It didn't really seem fair. Still, though, Clint didn't know how he was ever supposed to get over Phil if he didn't put himself out there, but part of him questioned if something serious like Mr. James was looking for was the right way to do that.

"Oh right, your brother. So I take it you checked him in today?"

"Yeah," Clint answered, shrugging awkwardly. "Right before I went to the carnival. He uh...I don't know, he seemed kind of on edge and everything, but I think he'll get used to it."

"Change is scary," Phil acknowledged with a nod. "If he's really looking to get clean, though, he'll stick with it."

"He better be," Clint grumbled, and then immediately felt guilty for it. He knew he was harboring some frustration about the sacrifices he was having to make, and he hated himself for it.

"You sounded kind of hostile there," Phil said gently.

"Yeah, well…" Clint started and then stopped when Phil held the restaurant door open for him "Let's order and then I'll tell you about it. But you have to promise you won't think worse of me, okay?"

"I could never think badly of you, Clint," Phil said, and he sounded so sincere that Clint couldn't help but want to kiss him.

"Well, we'll see," he answered instead.

Once they had each secured a chili cheese dog and claimed a small table in the corner next to the window, Clint began to confess exactly how awful a person he was.

"The thing is, Barney wanted to give rehab a try, but he doesn't have any money to pay for it. I mean, he's a drug addict, right, so he spends everything he has on his next fix," Clint started explaining.

"Right," Phil answered before taking a large bite of his hotdog.

"So I told him that I'd pay for it because he doesn't have any insurance, but he needs to go, you know? Thing is, I found one of the cheapest in-patient programs I could, that still looked like a reputable location obviously, but like, it's over 6,000 dollars."

Phil let out a low whistle, and Clint nodded in despair.

"So what, you can't pay for it?" Phil asked. He smiled teasingly then. "Clint Barton, are you already asking for a raise?"

Clint forced a laugh and a weak smile, and Phil sobered up again, grimacing apologetically.

"I mean, I can pay for it," Clint said. "I have a little bit over $10,000 saved, from when I was working as a server at Aureole. Like, I made most of it over the summer and last semester before I started getting my hours cut like crazy and you saved my ass."

"Okay, so what's the problem?" Phil asked.

"I pay for school out of pocket," Clint explained, and he saw the realization cross over Phil's face. "So that $10,000 was for next semester's tuition, but now I have to pay for Barney's rehab instead. And I really resent him for it, Phil. I know that's really selfish and awful of me, but every time I think about it I wish he'd never shown up on my porch."

Saying it out loud made him feel awful, but strangely it also made him feel a bit better.

"Clint, you're not a bad person," Phil said, jumping right to the reassurance. "I'd resent it if someone put me in that position too. I think the important thing is that you're doing it. You could have just told him to hit the road, but you're choosing his health over your own goals. You're a good man."

Clint ducked his head. "I just...god I just wish that I didn't have to do this. I've worked so hard, I just want to graduate."

"I know," Phil said. "Have you considered taking out loans?"

"Nah," Clint said with a sigh. "I don't really have any credit, and I don't have anyone to cosign for me. That's part of the reason I've been working my ass off to pay out of pocket. I can't tell you how many times I've had to have my roommates help me cover my part of the rent…"

He didn't say that, with what he was making now, even including tips, he would never be able to make enough money to pay for both his rent and his final semester of tuition unless he worked two full time jobs. Aureole had been a shitty job, but the ridiculously rich customers that paid over a hundred dollars per plate had always tipped very well. It was a job he would have been happy to keep, if he hadn't been getting shunted out of it anyway.

"I'm sorry," Phil sighed. "I wish there was something I could do."

"Don't worry about it," Clint said quickly. "You really helped me out by giving me a job. I pretty much owe you my soul."

Phil shook his head and grinned faintly. "Well, how about you come in to Uncommon Grounds tomorrow and help me out, and we'll call it even."

Clint frowned, wiping a spot of chili off his chin. "I thought the shop was closed tomorrow?"

"Oh, it is," Phil said, heaving a heavy sigh. "But I got a phone call this morning from some socialite on the Upper East Side who is hosting a Christmas Eve party tomorrow night and she needs a thousand petit fours by tomorrow evening."

"Um…" Clint said. "Does she know it's not a bakery?"

"I don't think she cares," Phil sighed. "Apparently her friend made a recommendation so she just had to have my "work" and blah blah blah. The only reason I accepted it was because technically I do do large orders like that sometimes, and because she offered to pay three times what I would usually charge for the inconvenience, plus for same-day delivery of all the supplies."

Clint let out a low whistle. "Damn, Phil. So what did you want my help with? I don't even know what a petit four is…"

Phil laughed. "It's like a really small cake. They're French. I don't actually sell them that often, so her friend must have came in on a day when I was stress baking or something. Anyway, she wants them decorated with a Christmas theme, so I have to make enough decorations for a thousand cakes, not to mention the cakes themselves. I'll be up all night making the cakes, so I was hoping you could come in tomorrow and I'll give you a crash course in simple decoration making. It would really, really help me out. I can pay you for the hours."

"Of course I'll help," Clint said easily. "You've helped me so much since I met you, of course I could never leave you hanging when you need me. What time did you want me to come in?"

"Well, I'll probably finish all the baking around five in the morning. So I'd like to catch a few hours of sleep before I get started on the decorating, so about nine?"

"Yeah, of course," Clint said immediately. Phil cast him a grateful smile.

"You are a life saver."

"Yeah, well," Clint said, trying not to sound as pleased as he felt. "Next time don't bite off more than you can chew."

"For that amount of money, I make no promises," Phil said seriously, and Clint just nodded. He really couldn't blame the guy.

* * *

Despite his woes about money, Clint was feeling pretty good when he got home after his lunch that was definitely not a date with Phil. That good mood crashed right down around him as soon as he got to his front door and saw a piece of paper duct-taped over the peep hole with "BRO" written on it in big letters. He tore it down and very warily opened it to read the message.

He immediately felt sick when he saw that the note was actually a printed out picture of Darcy walking down the street in her school uniform, laughing about something with one of her friends. She had a large X drawn across her face in red sharpie, and there was a quickly written note across the bottom of the picture.

_"The boss is getting mad. Would hate for something to happen to the girl."_


	4. Chapter 4

Clint felt like his heart stopped in his chest, and he crumpled the picture of Darcy up in his fist. He unlocked the door, slipped inside, and slammed it shut behind him. It was one thing to threaten him and Barney and Phil, but quite another to threaten Darcy. She was just a kid, and she really had absolutely nothing to do with it. Phil could take care of himself and Barney was in a safe place, but Darcy was just a high school kid with an after school job who could get hurt or killed just because she happened to work with Clint.

Clint threw his keys on the counter and then slid down against the wall to sit on the floor and burying his head in his hands. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't call the cops and get Barney sent back to jail, and they'd want to know why the tracksuit Draculas were threatening him. He wasn't foolish enough to think that they'd believe him if he told them that he had no idea why he was being targeted. It wasn't like he could scare them off himself. He was just a guy. His best skill had always been sneaking in through small places, and he was a bit big for that now. Anyway, it wasn't like that would be helpful in getting the mafia off his back. He doubted that he had enough money to pay back Barney's debts and also pay for Barney's rehab. He could give them back what was left of what Barney had stolen, but he had a feeling that it wasn't only the money they were after. Barney had fucked them over, stolen from them, and had so far evaded being punished for it. They would want to make sure he received a proper punishment, and Clint couldn't let that happen. But he just didn't know how to prevent it.

The fact of the matter was, Clint wasn't really a scary guy. He didn't have some big bad reputation to scare these mobsters away from him and the people he cared about, and he had no way of obtaining that sort of threat without exposing Barney. He didn't even have any big bad friends to help him out. Hell, the scariest person he knew was Natasha.

The idea hit him like a brick to the face, and suddenly Clint's head was lifting out of his arms and he could see hope at the end of the tunnel. He dug his phone out of his pocket and hit the first speed-dial button, not even bothering to check the time. It was late and he knew it, but there were more important things right now.

Natasha answered groggily. "Clint, I am going to fucking kill you."

"Okay, but later. Nat, I need your help." There was a long moment of silence, and then Natasha sounded completely awake and serious.

"What's wrong, what's happened?"

"Okay, so you know how we always kind of joke that your family is scary Russian mafia and you kind of smile but then make it seem like it's not really a joke?"

There was complete silence from the other side of the line.

"Nat, is your family by any chance powerful mafiosos?"

"_Ptichka_, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?" Natasha asked quietly, her voice cold like stone.

"It's not me, it's my brother. He was dealing for what I'm pretty sure is a small-time Russian mafia sect and he started stealing the product and so now they're after him, except he came to me so now they're after me too, and they've threatened Phil and Darcy and I can't call the cops, Nat, I can't. I need help."

Natasha swore in Russian and then said, "What can you tell me about these guys?"

"Not much," Clint admitted. "I'm pretty sure they're Russian but they definitely operate in the States. And they call everyone bro and wear these ugly maroon tracksuits…"

"I know who you're talking about," Natasha interrupted. "I've dealt those idiots in Bed-Stuy before. I'll see what I can do and I'll call you as soon as possible okay?"

"Thanks, Nat," Clint said, and Natasha hung up the phone. Clint stared at the blank screen for a minute, and then put his head down. So there was a probably a pretty good chance that his best friend was actually connected to the Russian mafia. Huh.

If he had been a little less shaken, he might have been smug at the idea that their jokes about Natasha's family had been correct, but honestly he was just worried. He didn't know if Darcy was okay or if Natasha would be able to help him out, and if she could, he didn't know what she would have to do in order to achieve it.

Clint stayed in his place on the floor for almost half an hour, staring at his phone and contemplating whether or not he should call Phil. It wasn't like Phil could do anything except call Darcy to make sure she was alright, but Clint was reluctant to worry either of them if it wasn't necessary.

Eventually he convinced himself to get up and try to do something to take his mind off of his worries. For the first hour he watched TV and stared at his phone, willing Natasha to call him back. In the second hour he played Fruit Ninja on his phone, but then he started to get paranoid that his battery would die and somehow the power would go out and Natasha wouldn't be able to get a hold of him, and he had to go immediately to his bedroom to plug in his phone, just in case. He spent the third hour pacing back and forth in the hallway, the fourth running side missions in Assassin's Creed on Steve's Playstation, and the fifth he spent scrubbing the bathroom and the kitchen, just to keep his hands busy.

It was just past nine at night when he heard his phone start to ring in his bedroom. He practically flew from his task of alphabetizing Bucky's DVDs to answer it.

"Hello, Nat?" he demanded, not even bothering to look at the caller ID.

"Bucky," the voice on the other end answered, and Clint's nerves jumped up even higher.

"What's going on?" Clint demanded. "Is Nat okay?"

"What?" Bucky asked, and Clint could practically hear his frown. "Yeah, she's fine. Why, is something wrong?"

So Natasha clearly hadn't informed Bucky of what was going on. He wasn't sure if he was relieved about that or not.

"No," Clint said. "Nothing's wrong, it's fine."

"Yeah, right," Bucky snorted. "It's fucking six am and Nat came in to tell me to call you and then disappeared into her Dad's office. Like I'm gonna believe nothing is going on."

"Well, yeah, okay," Clint said. "Something's going on, but it doesn't really have anything to do with you. What did Nat say?"

"She said to tell you that they had power to haggle and that they made a few calls and a few deals, and that it's being taken care of. There might be something you have to do, but she's doing her best to make it as easy on you as possible." Clint let out a shaky breath.

"She's sure?" he asked.

"She seemed pretty sure to me," Bucky said. "Now what the fuck is going on, Clint?"

"It's kind of a long story," Clint said, feeling suddenly tired. Natasha was working things out, but she said he might have to do something. He wasn't sure what that something would be, but he was almost positive that whatever it was, he wouldn't like it. "I really don't want to get into it. Ask Nat."

"Yeah, right, like she'll tell me. I can taste the undercurrent of secrecy in this house, Clint. And her father keeps saying I'd be good in the family business."

"Well yeah," Clint said innocently, hoping to distract his roommate from pressing him any more. "You'd make a great mafioso, Buck. Just hope that you don't wake up with a horse head in your bed."

"You're an asshole," Bucky huffed. "I'm going back to sleep. Natasha said she'd call you when she had it all sorted out."

"Okay," Clint said. "Thanks." Bucky hung up on him.

He didn't know when Natasha would call him, but he was a little reassured by the fact that she seemed to believe she could figure everything out for him. Hopefully whatever deal she managed to make wouldn't be terrible.

Knowing there was nothing else he could do until Natasha called back, he tried to keep himself calm and made himself a cup o' soup to soothe his rumbling stomach and then settled down with _Black Hawk Down_ on the couch. By the time it got to be 10:30, he realized that he'd only read about ten pages because he kept having to stop and reread sentences over and over again due to his wandering brain. He set the book aside and decided to go to bed.

He didn't fall asleep until after two, and Natasha still had not called.

* * *

Clint woke up at eight to the simultaneous ring of his alarm clock and something pounding at the front door. He felt like hadn't slept at all. For a minute, he considered just ignoring the world and going back to sleep, but the pounding on the door continued, and he remembered that Natasha had been trying to arrange help for his little mafia problem. He grabbed his phone and turned off the alarm, and he could see that Natasha had texted him at some point while he slept.

_"It's been sorted. Give them the rest of the drugs your brother stole and they'll call it even. They also wanted money to cover what he'd used, but when I threatened to cut off their dicks they seemed much more agreeable. You owe me, Barton." _

Clint winced at that and rolled out of bed, thinking that he'd have to give Natasha the best Christmas present he could afford to even start to pay her back for what she'd done. He hurried out of his room and towards the front door, hoping they wouldn't wake up their neighbors with their loud knocking. The last thing he needed was the people he lived near thinking he was a drug dealer, or worse. He left the chain attached when he opened the door to prevent the Tracksuit Draculas from pushing their way inside.

They were both staring at him expressionlessly, like they hadn't spent the last week harassing and threatening him at every opportunity.

"We're here for the stuff, bro," the big one spoke up, like Clint was stupid.

"Yeah, yeah," Clint grumbled. "One second." He shut the door and locked it again before rushing back to the bathroom to collect the baggie that he'd stashed and then never gotten around to moving. It was amazing that something so simple as a bag of white powder had caused so much trouble in his life. He was glad to be rid of it, and even gladder that he hadn't flushed it that night that he'd taken it away from Barney. At the time he had thought that maybe he might just sell it if he ever needed the money, maybe even, ironically, to pay for Barney's rehab, but it was better this way.

He unlocked the door and shoved the baggie out at the goons. The smaller one snatched it from Clint's fingers and shoved it in the backpack slung over his shoulder. They both scowled at Clint.

"Nice doing business with you, Bro," the bigger one sneered, and Clint suddenly felt confident under Natasha's protection.

"Listen, _Bro_," he snapped. "I didn't want to be involved in this shit, you brought it to me. If I see you anywhere near me or mine ever again, I will bring the Romanovs down on you like the hand of God, got it?"

The big one glared, but he nodded. "Yeah, bro, we got it."

"Good," Clint said, and snapped the door shut on them. He slid the locks closed again and let out a sigh of relief. Hopefully they would be scared enough to keep their word, and the whole business would be over and done with. He took a moment to let the feeling of relief flow through him, and then he retrieved his phone and dialed the number for the rehab center.

The phone was answered cheerfully by, Clint was willing to bet, Nurse Smiley.

"Hey," he said, when she'd finished her obviously scripted greeting. "This is Clint Barton. I was hoping I could leave a message for Barney Barton."

"Of course you can!" she answered cheerfully.

"Great," Clint sighed. It would save him a trip to the center to tell him in person. "Just tell him that the Draculas have been taken care of and that everything's fine now, okay?"

"Okay!" Nurse Smiley said, like she didn't find the message even a little bit odd. "You have a good day now, Mr. Barton."

"Yeah," Clint said. "You too."

He hung up the phone and laughed out loud. It was over. The threats and the fear was all over, and when Barney finished rehab he'd be able to try and restart his life without having to worry about being killed by street thugs. After rehab, they would both be able to move on with their lives, and that knowledge felt so good he couldn't even contain it.

He couldn't wait to go in to work and tell Phil that everything would be okay, and to see Phil's relieved smile. The day was already turning out to be great, and that smile would just make it even better.

Clint headed off to shower, whistling a happy tune while he went. Everything would be okay. Yeah, he had to put off graduation for a semester, but he was safe and Barney was safe, and everything was going to be okay. Knowing that, he couldn't even be upset anymore. Things were going to work out, even if they didn't happen in the way he'd originally expected them to.

He'd finish school eventually, and when he did, he'd have his brother back. It would all be worth it.

* * *

The sign was flipped to 'Closed' when Clint arrived at Uncommon Grounds, but the door was unlocked when he tried it. He let himself in like it was any other day and hung his coat up on the rack.

There was still-hot coffee in the pot, so he poured himself a cup and took a long drink. The thrill of Barney's debt being taken care of had woken him up some earlier, but now his body was getting over the excitement and remembering that he hadn't slept much the night before. The coffee would help, and it didn't hurt that Phil's coffee was always delicious.

The entire back room had little square cakes on almost every surface. Some were placed on wire racks, but others were just resting on a sheet of aluminum foil. Phil was using the one counter space that he hadn't covered in little cakes to roll out what looked like a thick red dough with a rolling pin.

He looked up when Clint came through the door and smiled at him, but he looked exhausted.

"Regret agreeing to this yet?" Clint asked him with a pitying smile.

"More and more every hour," Phil replied, and then leaned his face into his shoulder so that he could yawn.

"Before I get you started, do you mind getting me some more coffee?" Phil nodded at the reindeer-spattered coffee mug sitting at the edge of his work-space.

"Yeah, of course," Clint said easily, and scooped up the mug to go refill it. By the time he got back, Phil had rolled out his red dough and was laying it over the top of one of the cakes, smoothing it down nicely over the top so that the cake looked like a perfectly sculpted cube.

"What is that?" he asked as Phil took up a knife and started cutting off the edges of the red stuff that didn't fit on the cake.

"Fondant," Phil answered. "It's like...well, kind of like frosting, but not really? It's mostly just meant the make the cake look pretty, and it looks neater than frosting does."

Clint hummed in acknowledgement and watched as Phil finished setting the fondant.

"Okay," Phil said when he was done. "Fondant is actually kind of hard to lay flat correctly, so I'm going to have you do the decorations, which will be so easy, I promise." Phil disappeared behind the shelving units for a minute and then came back holding a stack of four silicone trays.

"Okay, like I said, this is so easy," Phil explained, setting the trays on the counter. "I've already melted the chocolate," he said, indicating a bowl of white liquid sitting on the counter. "You just pour it in the squeeze bottle and then fill up the molds. Then after you've filled the molds, hold both edges of the tray and tap it against the table to get the air bubbles out." Phil lifted up the tray with both hands and then brought the bottom of it down against the countertop a few times to demonstrate. "Then you just pop it in the freezer for about five minutes so the chocolate sets. Clean out the tray, dry it really well because water makes chocolate seize up, and start again. We need 333 of each," Phil instructed.

Clint looked at the trays and their twelve molds apiece and suddenly realized why Phil needed his help. Even something so simple would take hours.

"Start with the snowflakes," Phil said. "We'll do the holly leaves with green chocolate."

"Okay," Clint said, determined not to look discouraged by the hours he was about to put in to this project.

"Thank you so much, Clint," Phil sighed. "You are saving my life here."

"Hey, it's no problem," Clint said sincerely. "You've helped me out before. It's the least I can do, really."

He unscrewed the cap of the squeeze bottle and started carefully pouring the chocolate inside. It poured easily, if a bit slowly when it started reaching the end. They were both quiet for a few minutes as they got back into their tasks, Phil covering the little cakes in fondant at a rapid speed for someone who claimed it could be difficult.

"Where did you learn to do all of this stuff anyway?" Clint asked after some time had passed.

"Hm?" Phil said, and then apparently comprehended what Clint had said. "Oh, in college. I double majored in business and culinary arts. My original plan had been to open a bakery."

"Oh," Clint said, wondering if he would have ever met Phil if not for Uncommon Grounds being a coffee shop. He thought it much less likely that he would have taken an unplanned trip into a bakery. "Why did you decide to do coffee instead?"

"I don't know, really," Phil frowned, cutting the edges off another fondant layer. "I guess I just got sick of making things on demand in school and decided that I didn't want to do that anymore. A successful bakery would have people giving orders like this one we're doing right now all the time, and I don't really like doing that. Baking is something I do to relax, and in the shop I can put out whatever I feel like putting out on any given day. A bakery would have required me meet demands and I think it would have ruined my hobby. So I guess I just decided that everyone loves coffee and started doing that instead."

"You ever regret it?" Clint asked, glancing over at Phil. He was still focusing on covering his little cakes, but he had a small smile on his face. Clint had to work very hard to squash down the urge to grab Phil up in his arms and kiss that smile.

"No," Phil answered. "Especially not now."

Clint laughed, tapped his finished tray against the counter and brought it to the freezer. He started up with the second tray of snowflake shaped molds as soon as he got back to the counter. If he made a decent rhythm, maybe the molds wouldn't take quite so long.

They spent the next few hours chatting about whatever random things popped into their heads, and Clint was kind of blown away by how much he was enjoying it. At one, they stopped to make some food and Clint declared that he never wanted to see another piece of chocolate again, to which Phil had just laughed.

He was just about halfway through finishing the holly leaves, and Phil had started attaching the finished snowflakes (sprinkled with glittery blue sugar) when Clint remembered that Phil would probably want to know about what had happened that morning.

"Oh so, hey," he said, trying for casual and not looking away from his half-filled mold. "The whole thing with the Tracksuit Draculas has been taken care of."

"Oh yeah?" Phil asked. "Did you finally contact the police?"

"No, Natasha," Clint said. "Turns out her family is much scarier than the guys who were after Barney, so…"

"I don't understand you," Phil interrupted him, sounding exasperated. "Why would you put yourself in danger when there was a simple alternative?"

"Because it's not simple!" Clint said. "I couldn't just betray my brother, okay? I did that once, and I owe him for that."

"What do you mean, you did it once?" Phil asked. "Are you the reason he went to jail the first time?"

"No," Clint sighed, finishing up the tray and bringing it to the freezer, just so that he had time to organize his thoughts. He grabbed the last tray he'd done and brought it back out, gently prodding the holly leaves out of their molds so cleanly that he wasn't even going to have to wash the tray this time around.

"I'm sorry," Phil said quietly when Clint started filling the tray up again. "I shouldn't pry into your life, it's really not my place."

"No," Clint said again. "It's not, but you're my friend so I'm going to tell you. The thing is, I grew up an orphan, you know that." Phil nodded.

"But I didn't live in an orphanage the whole time. When you get to be about twelve, there's a very little chance that anyone is going to adopt you, so they start sending you out to foster homes to make room for the younger kids in the orphanages. Barney and me, we were luckier than most, and we got to stay together. We were fostered by a guy named Buck Chisholm, just the two of us. I guess it's because he didn't want to risk too many people knowing what he was doing and the social workers finding out."

He glanced at Phil and saw that the man's shoulders had gone tense. He was looking at Clint like he thought the very worst and didn't know how to react to that.

"He didn't, like, molest us or anything," Clint said, quick to reassure. "It's just that he had this weekend hobby where he'd go to rich neighborhoods, sneak inside and steal whatever he could get that was of any worth. But neighborhood watches were starting to be a thing, so it was much easier if he could send someone small inside through a basement window or something to case the place out and unlock the front door. No one ever notices if you just walk right into the house. They have no reason to think you're not supposed to be there if the door just opens right up for you. Well, Barney and I were pretty runty kids, so we were great at slipping inside locked houses without being noticed."

"Jesus," Phil breathed, but he looked much better than he had when he'd thought that Clint had been molested. "So he fostered kids and had them commit crimes for him?"

"Yeah," Clint shrugged. "He taught me how to pick locks and unlatch windows from the outside. When we got a little older we started hitting up cars too, stealing stereos and money and CDs, pretty much anything that we thought we could sell. If we came close to getting caught or made stupid mistakes, he'd beat the shit out of us, and we wouldn't make those mistakes again. But Barney always protected me, you know? He'd take the brunt of the blame every time, because he thought he could handle the abuse better than I could."

"God, and the social workers didn't notice?" Phil asked, and Clint shrugged.

"You gotta remember, Buck was pretty practiced in the foster kid business. He knew where to hit so the social workers wouldn't see, and he knew exactly how to make us believe that it was for our own good. It wasn't like our dad, who just beat on us because he was drunk. Buck only ever beat us when we messed up, so I guess it didn't really register as abuse, you know? I was kind of a fucked up kid."

"Due to no fault of your own," Phil said immediately. "God, Clint, I can't believe you had to live with that. Is that why you wanted to protect Barney from jail? Because he tried to protect you from the beatings?" Clint took a minute to switch out his trays again, giving himself a minute before he had to continue on with his story.

"Barney always tried his best, but that's not the whole reason I owed him. Buck didn't take on anymore foster kids, just kept me and Barney around even after Barney turned eighteen. I guess we just did really good work. We lived with him for five years, and I guess was the closest thing to family we'd ever had, and we trusted him despite everything, you know?"

Clint closed his eyes for a minute, trying to gather himself. He didn't like to remember his past. How silly and stupid he'd been, believing that Buck cared about him and that stealing from rich people was okay, because it was like Robin Hood. They were rich and he was needy, so why shouldn't he have taken things? Looking back, he knew that he'd always known it was wrong and felt kind of bad about it, but he'd lied to himself because it was that or get shunted off to some other foster home, without Barney.

"So, when I was seventeen, we were in this house and we'd found this jewelry box, and it was full of all these precious gemstones, and we just knew we'd hit the jackpot, you know? And I still don't know what happened, just that we must have fucked up and been seen, because the next thing I knew the house was surrounded by cops, Buck was gone, and Barney and I were caught breaking and entering with a duffle bag full of jewelry and electronics."

"So he saw the cops and just left you?" Phil asked, and Clint nodded.

"Yeah. So we got brought into the police station, because clearly we'd been robbing the place, and no public defender was ever going to be able to convince a jury that we hadn't been. We were split up and questioned, and I gave Buck up because I was so pissed at him. And I guess the Sheriff thought I was being cooperative, because he decided to give me a break."

Clint had thought back to that night at least once a week for three years before he'd decided to put his life back together and try to forget about what had come before. It was burned into his memory, and he could remember the way Sheriff Fury had looked at him with stern eyes, but still offered salvation.

"I wasn't of age yet, and I guess somehow Fury convinced the owners of the house not to press charges on me, as long as I paid them back for the damage we'd done to their house when we broke in. Barney was 21, though, so he got five years. He went to jail and I went free. I spent the first three years paying off my debt and fucking around, working odd jobs all over the place and basically wasting my opportunities, and then one day Fury came in to the diner I was working at and called me out on it."

"He sounds like a good man," Phil said, finishing up the snowflakes and starting on the next design. This one didn't involve any chocolate pieces and just had him piping gel onto the little cakes to make them look like red and green fondant-wrapped Christmas presents tied with little gel ribbons.

"Yeah," Clint shrugged, focusing more of his attention on getting the holly leaves done. "Pretty stern, definitely not someone who I would ever call a father figure or anything, but he was good to me. I still send him emails sometimes. But anyway, he came in right after I'd turned twenty and asked if I was going to do anything with myself now that I'd been given a second chance. He said that I was a smart kid and that it would be a waste for me not to do anything with myself."

"He wasn't wrong," Phil said, shooting him a grin, and Clint grinned back.

"Yeah, I guess not. But I took the next year to figure myself out, got my GED, applied to college and moved out of Iowa for the first time in my life, to New York City. And my first week here, I came into a coffee shop and the owner gave me a free coffee and welcomed me and made me feel at home for the first time in a long time. And the rest is history."

"Wow," Phil said, letting out a low whistle. "It sounds like you've lead a very interesting life.

"Yeah," Clint snorted. "That's one word for it. But, I hope you understand now, why I can't turn Barney into the cops. I got a second chance, and he didn't. If Fury hadn't stuck his neck out for me, I don't know where I'd be. Sometimes all you need is for someone to care about you and have faith that you can do the right thing if given the chance. Barney didn't have that, and I gave it to him, and I can't really regret that, no matter how much trouble it's caused me."

"You amaze me, Clint," Phil said quietly. "You really do. You're such a good man, and you're so selfless and loyal. Even if I don't always agree with your methods, it's easy to see that your heart is in the right place."

"Well," Clint said awkwardly. "I mean, I just try to do my best. I don't know."

"I do," Phil assured him. "I'm honored to know you."

"Aw, come on, man," Clint complained, hoping that his face didn't look as red as it felt.

"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to embarrass you," Phil said. "I'm just kind of in awe."

Clint delivered the last tray of holly leaves to the freezer, thankful hoping that the cold air would help cool his heated skin. Phil Coulson, the man who Clint had harbored feelings for for years, in part because of his general kindness and goodness, was now saying that he was in awe of _Clint_? It didn't really compute. He took a minute to calm himself down and then headed back into the kitchen, where Phil had switched from doing the presents to affixing the holly leaves.

"I thought you should do the rest of the presents, since there's kind of an art to making sure the candies stay fixed in the right place when they're being moved around," Phil explained. "They're really easy, just draw lines and then loops for the bow. Give it a try."

Clint did as he was told, carefully piping the lines down the sides of the cake and then over the top, doing two loops and two little tails to create a bow.

"Beautiful," Phil praised. "We'll be done with this in no time, which is excellent because they're supposed to be picked up in an hour." Clint glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see that it was just a few minutes past three o' clock. He'd known that they'd gotten a lot done, but he hadn't quite realized how much time had passed. Despite the work and talking about his checkered past, he'd been enjoying spending the time with Phil.

They worked quickly and mostly quietly for the remaining hour, and Phil gave out a triumphant little "ha!" when he fixed on the last holly leaf and then dotted it with some red icing to create a berry.

"We make an excellent team," he said, looking at their work spread out over every surface of the kitchen. Now let's get these packed up in the boxes and they'll be all ready to be picked up!"

They put the cakes in long, thin pastry boxes, with fifty to a box, and then carefully stacked them on top of each other out on the counter space in the front so they would be easy to move once the woman arrived to get them. The stacks were almost intimidatingly tall, and Clint kept worrying about them tipping, but Phil didn't seem concerned.

"Thank you, Clint," Phil said once they were done. "I can't really thank you enough, honestly, but know you'll be getting time and a half for working on a holiday."

"That's thanks enough for me, really," Clint assured him. "It was nice talking to you today, I hardly even noticed the work."

"That's nice of you to say," Phil said, laughing like he didn't believe it. "It also wanted to thank you for being so open with me. I know that's not really in your nature, and reliving something you've tried so hard to forget must have been difficult."

"Nah," Clint said with a shrug. "It was actually kind of nice to talk about it. I'm moving on from it, I think."

"That's good." Phil looked down at the floor for a second, like he was nervous, and then looked back up at Clint's face. His eyes were bright and he looked a little apprehensive.

"I was going to wait, but…"

"Phil, what…?"

Before he could finish his sentence, Phil stepped into his space and slotted his mouth over Clint's in a gentle kiss. Clint's entire brain exploded, not really knowing how to react. A thousand thoughts rushed through him in a few seconds, starting with 'oh god finally', middling out around 'is this a dream?' and ending with 'well kiss him back stupid!'" And kiss him back Clint did, with great enthusiasm.

He slid his arms around Phil's waist and started giving as good as he got, and Phil made a small sound into his mouth. Clint wanted to lift Phil off his feet and spread him out on the counter and touch him like he'd wanted to for so long, but then Mr. James suddenly popped into his head.

Mr. James, who had been so kind to him, who had been so romantic and thoughtful in his attempts to ask Clint out, who he had a date with tomorrow. He pulled away from Phil, who sucked in a breath and then tried to dive back in for another kiss. Clint pulled back more, letting go of Phil and stepping back from him.

"I can't do this," he said. "It's not right, I have a date tomorrow and I... God, Phil, I'm so sorry. I have to go."

"Clint, wait!" Phil said, sounding desperate, but Clint couldn't wait. He grabbed his jacket off the hook and didn't even take the time to pull it on before he was out the door.

It was getting dark and it was cold, so he pulled his coat on as he went, shoving his hands in his pockets to try and warm them up. Phil didn't follow him, and Clint couldn't help but wish that he had. It was selfish. Clint had left for a reason. But it would have been nice if maybe Phil had tried a little harder.

Phil Coulson had kissed him, and it had been the best thing in the entire world. For a moment everything had felt perfect, and then he'd remembered a commitment he hadn't really made to a man he'd never met. Phil was the real deal, what he'd wanted for so long, and Mr. James was a complete mystery. By all logic, he should have stayed with Phil, but Clint knew in the back of his brain, even if he didn't want to admit it , that he was scared. Phil was the man that he'd wanted for years, and now that it seemed possible to have him, he wasn't sure it would be what he expected. Maybe Phil wouldn't live up to Clint's imagination, or, more likely, Clint wouldn't live up to Phil's. Clint didn't think he could stand being a disappointment to him.

He knew he was being a coward, and that Mr. James was safe because he was unquantifiable in his anonymity. But tomorrow he would meet Mr. James, and he wouldn't be so safe anymore. He would be real. So Clint would have to choose between two men, one who he had longed for for years, and one who had made him feel loved and special and worth the trouble for the past two weeks. He could easily disappoint either of them, but it was admittedly much less scary to think of disappointing Mr. James than it was to think of disappointing Phil. He felt like a crappy YA novel heroine. Tomorrow he'd have to make a decision, but tomorrow was still some time off. He preferred instead to waste the rest of the day online in order to avoid thinking about it, and that was exactly what he did when he got home.

It was only when he was getting in to bed that he realized he hadn't received a gift from Mr. James that day, and that he was kind of disappointed by that.

* * *

Clint slept in past noon on Christmas. He'd been up late thinking too much about his situation with Phil and Mr. James, so he'd slept until almost one, and then had spent half an hour in bed when he woke up in the morning just being generally lazy. The first thing he did when finally got out of bed was unwrap the presents his roommates had left for him. He'd received a nice purple v-neck sweater from Natasha and Bucky. There was also a white button-up shirt with a high collar underneath it, and a note from Natasha that simply read, _"wear them together, neanderthal."_ The sweater was soft and made of cashmere, and Clint was absolutely positive he didn't want to know how much it had cost. Steve's gift was a matte black dial watch with purple accents and, if the box was to be believed, it was waterproof and glowed in the dark. It was practical and yet appealed to Clint personally. It was such a Steve gift that Clint had to smile. He set it to the right time and date and slipped it onto his wrist right away, pleased that it fit just about perfectly.

He ate a quick breakfast and then decided to go visit Barney. He hadn't bought his brother anything, and he didn't even really know what he could get him that he could have in the rehab center. Still, Barney most likely hadn't bought him anything either, so he wouldn't feel too bad about it.

It was a different nurse behind the desk this time, and she looked pretty disinterested in everything around her. Clint figured he'd probably feel that way too, if he had to spend Christmas morning working instead of at home doing whatever he wanted to. He tried not to feel put off by it.

"Hi," he said, offering up his best smile. "I'm Clint Barton, here to see Barney Barton?" The nurse stared at him for a long moment and then started tapping away at her keyboard. After a moment, she frowned.

"He's not here."

"Oh," Clint said said. "Try Charles Barton…"

"No, I mean he's not here," the nurse said again. "He checked himself out this morning."

For a minute, Clint felt like he'd been hit by a truck. And then after a moment, he still felt like shit, but he was less surprised and more tired.

"Fuck," he said, without any feeling behind it. "Okay. I mean...so do I still have to pay the whole bill if he was only here for two days?"

"That's something you're gonna have to take up with the insurance providers," she said, sounding disinterested.

"We don't have insurance," Clint said, feeling suddenly drained and exhausted.

"Well, then, unless you have a lawyer and are willing to challenge it, probably," she said. "Now if you'll excuse me, there's a line." Clint glanced behind him and saw that there was, in fact, a line. He moved out of the way, feeling numb.

There was no way he could afford a lawyer. A decent one would cost him more than he was paying for the rehab in the first place. He was going to miss out on graduating because he'd stupidly wasted his money on paying for rehab for his deadbeat brother who hadn't even lasted three days.

He spent the entire ride home wondering if Barney would be waiting for him when he got there. Would he expect Clint to put him up after Clint had given up so much for him? If he did, he would certainly have a rude awakening, because Clint was absolutely done. He'd tried to do good by Barney. He'd tried to offer him a second chance, as much as he was able to, at the expense of his own goals, and Barney had thrown it back in his face.

Clint was thankful when he got home and saw that Barney wasn't waiting for him, but his relief only lasted for as long as it took him to get the front door open and realize that Barney had been there. It was pretty easy to tell by the obvious hole where Steve's PS3 should have been and the empty shelves that had once held Bucky's DVDs. Clint cussed loudly, slamming the front door behind him, and went to check the rest of the damage. He headed directly for Natasha's bedroom, groaning when he saw the the door had been left slightly ajar. The big, lacquered jewelry box that played a little tinkling tune whenever it was propped open was gone, along with everything in it, he was sure. He wasn't sure if anything else had been taken, but he knew exactly what was easy to pawn for decent money, so he guessed as many of Nat's leather jackets that Barney could carry had been stuffed into a duffle bag, along with any designer shoes he could fit.

He checked the rest of the apartment, and found that nothing else of Steve's appeared to be missing, but it was actually hard to say. Clint's own iPod and laptop were gone, and he guessed he could only be glad that he'd taken his cellphone with him, or Barney probably would have stolen that too. What really bothered him, though, was the little goose that he'd managed to save from the gift he'd gotten on day six. Apparently while Barney had been rifling through his things, he'd knocked it from it's shelf, and the fragile figurine had shattered over the desk top. He'd done his best to save it, but even that hadn't been enough.

He'd thought that he felt like shit when he'd found out Barney had checked himself out of rehab, but that was nothing compared to what he felt now. Barney checking out only affected him and Clint, but this affected Clint's friends. The people he cared about were suffering losses because Clint had made a bad decision and decided to trust Barney even when he knew he shouldn't have. Now his friends were paying for it in thousands of dollars worth of stolen goods, and it would be Clint's responsibility to pay them back, on top of the rehab bills and everything else.

He came back into the living room and sunk down onto the couch in a numb sort of daze, and that's when he saw the yellow post-it note stuck to the coffee table.

_"It was like prison in there. I can't change like you did. I'm sorry."_

Clint let out a choked laugh, crumpled up the note into a ball, and flung it across the room. It didn't take long before his laughter dissolved into tears and he burrowed his head into his arms and just let it out. He was so fucked. He'd never be able to repay his friends for their losses, and they'd never forgive him for letting Barney in to case out the joint comfortably in his own time so that he could rob them blind.

They'd probably ask him to move out, and then he'd be homeless and friendless with absolutely nothing of value in his life. Not even a stupid piece of paper that said he'd gone through college so he could get a job to help him with all his debt. He'd probably have to take on another full-time job to even cover what he owed now.

Yesterday morning he'd been convinced that everything would work out. Today, he was wondering how he could have been so stupidly optimistic. He'd thought that he could grow up and move on and forget his past, but Barney was proof that there was just no escaping it.

He could run as far as he wanted, pretend like he wasn't a white trash kid from Iowa with a shadowy past and a bad luck streak a mile wide, but that didn't mean things wouldn't catch up with him eventually. It had been stupid of him to think he could leave it all behind.

He decided to call Steve first, because Steve would always be the simplest. He was a good guy, very moral and upright, the kind of person that made you want to be better just by knowing him. He wouldn't be angry with Clint, just disappointed in the situation. It would be much easier than facing Natasha and Bucky, who were awful on their own, but put together, their rage was apocalyptic.

Steve answered the phone with a cheerful, "Merry Christmas!" and Clint just felt worse. He'd kind of forgotten that it was Christmas, with everything that had happened, and now he was going to ruin it for his friends by being the bearer of bad news.

"Hey Steve, Merry Christmas," Clint answered. "Listen, I'm calling because I've got bad news."

"Are Natasha and Bucky okay?" Steve said immediately.

"Yeah, they're fine. No one's hurt. It's just that..." Clint paused, trying to think of how to explain this all to Steve, who had idea that Clint even had a brother in the first place. "I just kind of fucked up, and I'm calling to let you know that I'll do everything I can to fix it, okay?"

"Okay," Steve said, drawing the word out and sounding concerned.

"My brother has been staying in our apartment for the past week," Clint said. "And today I came home and found out that he'd stolen pretty much anything of value that he could carry. Your Play Station is gone, and probably anything of value that was easy to find in your room. I didn't notice anything else when I glanced in, but that doesn't mean anything."

Steve was silent on the other end of the line for a long moment, and Clint found himself fidgeting.

"I'm really sorry," he offered. "I know that's not really helpful, but I promise I'll pay you back. I might not be able to right away, but…"

"Clint, don't be ridiculous," Steve said. "It's not like you stole my stuff. It's not up to you to replace it."

"No, I just let the guy who did steal it sleep on our couch," Clint snorted derisively.

"He's your brother," Steve said calmly. "I can't blame you for giving him a place to stay when he needed it. And honestly, if he's willing to betray your trust like that, he must need it more than me, anyway. It's okay, Clint. You don't owe me anything."

"God Steve, are you sure?" Clint asked, feeling so grateful that Steve was such an amazing person.

"Of course I am," he said. "Did you like your gift?"

Clint looked down guiltily at the watch that was still around his wrist. By all rights he should give it back to Steve so that he could return it and get at least some of his money back. He knew Steve would never accept that though, so he just nodded even though Steve couldn't see him.

"Yeah, Steve, it's great. Thank you."

"You're welcome. And Merry Christmas. I hope it gets better."

"Thanks, Steve," he said. "Merry Christmas."

He could hear Tony's voice in the background as Steve hung up, and he stared at his phone with trepidation, contemplating what his call to Natasha would be like. He wondered what she would do when she found out. Maybe she would lift her protection from the tracksuits, and they'd go after Barney again. Despite everything, Clint knew he couldn't let her do that. He'd figure out a way to replace everything and then some, if that's what it took. He was furious with Barney, obviously, but he also needed to know his brother was relatively safe. There was nothing he could do about the damage that Barney inflicted on himself, but he could do his best to protect him from the tracksuit goons.

After about twenty minutes of talking himself up, Clint opened the skype app on his phone and put a call through to Natasha. It was late in Moscow, but Natasha and Bucky were both still awake and they looked pleased to see him.

"Did you like your gift, _Ptichka_?" she asked as a greeting.

"Uh, yeah," Clint said. "It was really nice, thank you."

"You're welcome," she answered. "Now tell me what's wrong, you look like you're about to have a panic attack."

"My brother checked himself out of rehab and robbed us blind," he blurted nervously. So much for breaking it to them gently.

"What," Bucky said flatly while Natasha raised an eyebrow.

"God, I'm so sorry, guys," Clint babbled. "I thought he was trying to change, I was just trying to be good to my brother and he fucked me over and I let him fuck you over too."

"What did he take?" Bucky demanded.

"All your DVDs," Clint said. "Nat's entire jewelry box, and probably anything designer or leather in your closet. Any small electronics you might have left in your room."

"Did he take anything of yours?" Bucky demanded, and Natasha elbowed him hard in the side.

"My laptop and my iPod," Clint said. "I didn't really have anything else of value. I was wearing my leather coat and had my phone with me, so he didn't take those. I'm really sorry guys. I'll pay you back, or replace everything, whatever you want."

"It's okay, _Ptichka_," Natasha said calmly. "Anything of real worth in that jewelry box is insured, and the clothes are just clothes. I can buy new ones."

"Yeah," Bucky said after a minute of him and Natasha staring at each other with narrowed eyes. "It's just stuff. Don't worry about it."

"Why are you guys all being so reasonable?" Clint demanded. "I mean, I kind of expected it from Steve but…"

"Look, man," Bucky interrupted. "The way I look at it, you got fucked over just as much as we did, probably even more because it was your brother, which makes it kinda personal. We'd be the worst friends ever if we held you responsible for getting betrayed when you were trying to be a good person."

"Exactly," Natasha agreed. "Am I annoyed that my stuff has been taken? Yes. Am I going to punish you for it? No."

"What about him?" Clint asked. "You won't stop protecting him from the tracksuits, right?"

"I'm insulted that you even have to ask," Natasha sniffed. "I didn't go to all that trouble just to rescind it the very next day. He'll be safe."

"Thanks Nat," Clint sighed, feeling a relief that he hadn't really expected rush over him. "Thank you both, for being so nice. I know I really fucked up."

"Don't worry about it," Bucky sighed. "It's not your fault. We don't blame you, I highly doubt Steve blames you, so don't worry about it okay?"

"Easier said than done," Clint said. "But I'll try."

"Good. Now, it's getting late, _Ptichka_, and we have to be up early for a trip to go see my _babushka_ tomorrow. Please don't worry too much. And enjoy your date tonight."

She disconnected before he could ask her how she knew about it, but then he remembered that Bucky had been in on it and that he probably knew the whole plan. In fact, Natasha probably knew who Mr. James was.

Her reminder, of course, brought up the next of Clint's problems. After kissing Phil yesterday, which had been fantastic and everything he'd ever wanted, taking a chance at dating Mr. James suddenly didn't seem quite so easy at it had been before Phil had kissed him. When Clint had decided to give Mr. James a chance, dating Phil hadn't even been an option his mind had considered. But now it seemed to be entirely possible, and he didn't really know what to do.

A glance at his new watch confirmed that he had about two hours to decide, which seemed both like an eternity and not enough time. Clint set his phone down and slumped down on the couch, whining pitifully. Why couldn't anything in his life ever be simple?

Mr. James was kind, creative, and thoughtful. His gifts had proved that. The game he'd had Clint play as a gift on the fifth day proved that he knew how to have fun, day seven proved he was generous. He'd gone to a lot of trouble to ask Clint out, and part of Clint felt like he owed him for that. His inner Natasha voice informed him that he didn't owe anyone anything, no matter how nice they'd been, but he still thought he'd feel kind of bad about it if he didn't at least give him a chance.

He'd been looking forward to his date with Mr. James, and he'd been really flattered and kind of blown away by all the attention he'd received. No one had ever bothered to try and make him feel special like that, and Clint had to admit it was doing a great job of worming fondness for Mr. James into his heart, but in all honestly he didn't know them man.

Phil, on the other hand. Phil and Clint had history. For one, and most obviously, Clint had been harboring feelings for Phil for a long time. Phil was kind and funny and sweet and so many other adjectives. He was also hard-working to the point of being a bit of a control freak, and he could get snippy when he was tired or frustrated, and he was a little paranoid and maybe even kind of dangerous, but Clint always felt safe with him.

Traits that he would find annoying or off-putting in other people just seemed endearing on Phil, and Clint wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. If it bothered him in other people, why shouldn't it bother him in Phil? And even if it didn't bother him now, if they dated would it start to bother him? Would he grow to be so resentful of things Phil did that they couldn't even be friends anymore? Or worse, what if Clint didn't turn out to be what Phil had expected? He didn't think he could handle having Phil and then losing him.

Mr. James was the unknown, easily the safer option. He did his best to make Clint feel important, but Phil did the same, with the added sterness of holding him accountable for his actions and calling him out when he thought Clint was being unreasonable. Mr. James was easy and safe, but Clint still wanted Phil.

The realization hit him hard and almost knocked the breath from him. Phil was challenging and fun and a little bossy and extremely caring. He made Clint's day better just by existing, and he supported Clint when he needed it while also trying to make him see some sense if it was required. He'd thought his feelings for Phil stopped at infatuation and could be gotten over, if he was just willing to try, but that idea was laughable. He loved Phil, everything about him, from the good to the bad, and there was no way he could ever just get over it.

WIth this new surge of realization and confidence, Clint wanted nothing more than to rush right out and go find Phil and tell him how he felt, and maybe get some more kisses. But part of him remembered Mr. James and how nice he seemed, and he couldn't bring himself to go to Phil before he was honest with Mr. James and had broken off anything they might have cleanly. He wasn't the kind of asshole who could just stand someone up.

He would meet Mr. James when he was supposed to, and he would thank him for his kindness and then tell him about Phil. It would probably be hard to hurt him like that, but it would be for the best in the end.

Now he just had to wait.

* * *

He'd spent the the next two hours pacing around his apartment, trying not to think too much about any of the shit that had gone down, or about how nervous he was to face Mr. James and Phil. He actually couldn't decide who it would be harder to face, considering that he'd walked out on Phil after they had kissed the day before. Phil might think that Clint had rejected him because he didn't want him, which was the most ridiculous idea in the world. But just because that was obvious to Clint didn't mean it would obvious to Phil.

To pass the last half hour, he'd decided to make himself look nice. Phil had seen him covered in coffee and flour and in a pre-exam zombie-like state, so it wouldn't really make a difference to him if he saw Clint a little dressed up, but Clint still thought it might be nice. Natasha always said people appreciated it when you obviously made an effort for them, and Natasha usually knew what she was talking about.

He'd taken a long shower and spent more than five minutes on his hair. Not that it really looked all that different from his usual attempts, but he figured it was the effort that counted. He dressed in nice jeans and the shirt and sweater combo that Natasha and Bucky had given him for Christmas. It was pretty form fitting, which made him a bit uncomfortable, but it made him look kind of like a _GQ_ model and he thought Phil would like that, so he tried not to fiddle with it too much. Anyway, he did really like the color of the sweater.

After that, he hadn't been able to wait around his apartment anymore, so he'd grabbed his coat, discovered that Barney had also stolen the Rockettes tickets (to scalp, Clint was sure), and headed out to Rockefeller center.

Even with all the delaying he'd done in his apartment, he still had half an hour until he was supposed to meet Mr. James when he finally arrived. He decided to go watch the ice skaters rather than hanging around under the tree like a lonely weirdo. Maybe it wasn't any less weird to just watch people skate in circles on a huge patch of ice, but at least the tourists were doing it too so he wasn't alone.

There was a little girl in the middle trying valiantly to do a spin like a figure skater and failing spectacularly every time. She'd start off okay, and then wobble violently and land hard on her ass. But even after doing it fifteen times, she still got up and gave it another go, with the same results. Clint knew how that felt intimately, and he found himself cheering her on in his head. By the time he decided to head over to the tree, she still hadn't managed to do the spin, but her dad had come over to give her some pointers and she had managed to get a little farther in her turn before she fell down. She was still trying as he left, looking determined and hopeful, like maybe this time wouldn't be like all the others, and he father was resolutely helping her back to her feet every single time.

He walked slowly to the tree, not sure exactly what he was going to say to Mr. James, but positive that it would pretty awkward, especially since he wouldn't even be able to give back the tickets that he was sure Mr. James had spent a lot of money on them.

The tree looked gorgeous as he came up to wait by it, trying not to be in the way of tourists who were snapping pictures. He'd always loved to look at the lights on trees, and it was this that distracted him for long enough for someone to come up behind him and tap him on the shoulder.

He waited a second before turning around, trying to steel himself for finally seeing who Mr. James was. But when he turned around, he came face to face with Phil, who was looking at him nervously. Had he come to ask Clint to consider him instead of Mr. James? Or maybe he'd come to apologize about the kiss, and this was the only place that he knew Clint would be.

"Phil," he said, and his voice sounded much more surprised than he liked. "What are you doing here?"

"I um…" Phil said awkwardly. "I know I'm probably not what you were expecting. And I know you're not interested. But I thought it would be cruel of me not to show up and leave you wondering. So I came, but I promise I don't expect anything…"

And that was when Clint realized that Phil was holding a box wrapped in purple paper and tied off with a white ribbon in his gloved hands. He saw Clint notice the box, and he held it out in front of him like an offering.

"I still thought you might want the twelfth present though. It's not much, just…"

"You're Mr. James," Clint said stupidly, a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind.

Phil frowned, and then smiled. "Right, the name I gave the woman at the orphanage. Phillip James Coulson," he said, like an explanation.

"All that time, you were Mr. James," Clint said again. All those thoughtful and caring gifts had been from Phil.

"I realize that this is kind of inappropriate, considering that I'm your boss now, but I promise that my feelings for you will never get in the way, Clint. And I'd already started the gifts when you asked me about a job, and I just thought it would be a shame to stop them. But you're clearly not interested and I want you to know that I don't expect anything from you…"

Clint didn't know what to say, because here was Phil, Mr. James, standing in front of him still awkwardly holding the purple wrapped box out in front of him and rambling on nervously. He was everything Clint had ever wanted.

"I love you," Clint sighed, and Phil didn't even have enough time to finish his, "wait, what?" before Clint was pressing his mouth to Phil's, right in the middle of Rockefeller Center under the huge Christmas tree with tourists snapping pictures all around them.

It was better than their first kiss, because Clint was expecting it and Phil melted right into him, pressing as close as he could manage with the gift still in between them. Phil tasted like sugar and coffee, and the warm press of his body was so intoxicating that Clint brought a hand up to rest at the back of his neck to keep him close.

"I'm confused," Phil said when they finally broke apart. "I thought I'd really crossed a line by kissing you yesterday."

"God, no," Clint said, pressing his forehead to Phil's. "I was just confused because I've wanted you for so long but you've always seemed so unattainable, and I'd already pretty much decided that I was going to give Mr. James a chance so I could hopefully get over you. And then you kissed me and suddenly I didn't know what to do and I just couldn't handle it. I'm sorry I made you think I didn't want you."

"I'm sorry I made you so confused," Phil said, looking kind of sheepish. "The secret admirer thing seemed like a good idea at the time…"

"It was," Clint assured him quickly. "I've never felt so appreciated in my life as I have these past two weeks. Your gifts really lit up my day when my life was kind of going to crap."

"I'm glad," Phil said with a soft smile, pressing a quick kiss to Clint's mouth. "But you showed up here. So had you decided to give up on me just to discover that I was the only choice anyway?"

"No," Clint said, hoping he sounded appropriately affronted. "I was going to tell Mr. James that I really appreciated his kindness, but that I was in love with someone else, and then I was going to go find you and beg you to forgive me for walking out on you yesterday."

"I forgive you," Phil told him seriously, and Clint cracked a smile. "Now, do you want your last gift or not?"

Clint took the box and began tugging at the ribbon. "I didn't get a gift from you yesterday," he reminded Phil. "I was actually really disappointed."

"I hope you appreciate how difficult it was to come up with some of those gifts," Phil snorted. "So there weren't eleven of us, but you and I definitely did some piping yesterday."

Clint laughed, remembering the piping gel they'd applied to the petit fours. Piping indeed.

"Wow, that is clever. So did we make a thousand little cakes just for that?" he demanded, thinking of all the hard work he'd put in yesterday.

"No," Phil said. "That was a real order. I would have gone for something much simpler if I was just making it up. It just happened to come up at the right time so I used it."

"You're so resourceful," Clint simpered at him. He finally got the paper torn off and opened the plain white box inside to find a dozen sugar cookies that were shaped and decorated like little drums. He let out a delighted laugh and leaned in for another kiss, just because he could and because kissing Phil was his new favorite thing.

"Thank you, Phil," he said, closing the box. "Like, really. This whole thing was amazing and I just…"

"Shh," Phil said, obviously understanding that Clint was having a hard time coming up with the right words. "You're welcome. Now, how about those Rockettes?"

"Uh yeah," Clint said, feeling guilty again. "About that."

"What?" Phil asked with a frown, withdrawing like he thought maybe Clint had changed his mind. "I thought…"

"Don't get me wrong, I'd love to go on a date with you. A million dates, until the end of time, really. It's just that my brother checked himself out of rehab and stole pretty much anything valuable that he could carry from my apartment. Apparently he thought he might be able to scalp those tickets for a good price. I'm sorry."

"God, Clint," Phil sighed, wrapping his arms over Clint's shoulders and hugging him close. It was really nice, and Clint sighed rested his cheek on Phil's shoulder, the material of his jacket cold against Clint's face. "I'm sorry he did that to you. After everything you did for him."

"Yeah, well," Clint sighed. "I mean, I'm pissed, but there's nothing I can do about it, right?"

"You could file a police report," Phil said dryly. "But I know you won't."

"You're right, I won't," Clint responded stubbornly.

"You have the right to make that choice," Phil said, pulling back from their hug just enough so that he could slide his arm across Clint's back and pull him close against Phil's side . "But enough about that for right now. Why don't we go back to my place and I'll make us some cider and we can pop in a movie?"

"That sounds perfect," Clint admitted, pressing his side up against Phil's as much as he could.

As they walked away from Rockefeller Center, theirs sides pressed together and arguing about what movie they should watch, Clint couldn't help but think that he was kind of like that little girl in the middle of the ice rink. He was trying his best, but somehow he kept falling short and landing hard on his ass. But he wasn't alone in it, and he had people to help pick him back up, and now that he had Phil, all the falling seemed worth it. It still hurt when it happened, but the pain was soothed away much easier with Phil's smile and support.

His life was never going to be perfect, and maybe it wouldn't turn out the way he kept trying to make it turn out. But as long as Clint had people to keep helping him up, he'd keep trying.


End file.
